


Sundays at Luke's

by MrsMess



Category: Gilmore Girls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friendship/Love, Idiots in Love, Kissing, Literati, Mutual Pining, Sex, Slow Burn, villain!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:15:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 76,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27615415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsMess/pseuds/MrsMess
Summary: “You know that phrase fake it ‘til you make it? Well, sometimes you’ll do that unintentionally.”Fake dating au on season 5. Sort of.
Relationships: Rory Gilmore/Jess Mariano
Comments: 219
Kudos: 485





	1. Long Enough for a Joke

**Author's Note:**

> According to a uquiz I took my fanfic trope aesthetic is fake relationship. Up to that point I had never written one, so I decided it was time.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously on Gilmore Girls: Okay, so, remember when Jess came to Stars Hollow? That still happened. Actually, everything up until Sookie’s wedding is as you remember it. But then something incredible went down: Jess took Luke’s advice, and didn’t go to tell Rory he was back. That changed things a bit, or a lot, depending on your point of view. Anyway this story isn’t about that, or the direct, or even indirect consequences of that one decision, but more about what happened two and a half years later. That’s when our story starts. No. Wait. First we have to check in with our heroes at a significant point in this timeline. Hang on.

_May, 2004_

**_Jess_ **

His phone rings. He mostly ignores it, but tonight it’s a welcome excuse. He leaves the table where his jailbird neighbor gnaws on a third turkey leg, picks up the phone from his pocket and stops breathing when he recognises the number. He presses the call through.

“Rory?” The name feels strange in his mouth, he hasn’t spoken it aloud in almost a year, he’s thought of it though, and her.

There is a hum of people’s voices on the other end, music playing, and the sharp sound of a glass breaking somewhere. A party, maybe, or a bar. But in the middle, where a voice should be, is a pause. Not absence though, but the opposite, someone so very there.

“Hello?” He tries again.

She’s calling him and not speaking, how poetic. Then, finally she does.

“I’m kinda stuck and I didn’t know who else to call.”

He’s on the road five minutes later, driving faster than he should. The place is located in a pretty dicey part of New Haven. He double-parks and is about to turn off the engine, to head inside and find her, when she appears by the passenger side, knocking on his window. He leans over and pushes the door open, it’s hard to do from the outside. She gets into his car; her brown corduroy skirt rides up when she sits down, and she turns her head, putting her shorter hair behind her ear, and looks at him with those eyes of hers.

“Weren’t you supposed to wait inside?” He says, sharper than he’d like at this juncture.

“I got too antsy.” She answers. 

He wonders why - was she just in a hurry to get out of there or was she nervous about seeing him?

“Where should I take you?”

“Stars Hollow. I’ll get my stuff tomorrow.”

He drives, but keeps glancing at her. Part of him - one he tries to ignore these days since he’s no longer living with Liz - is looking for the signs: something bruised, torn, smudged. But nothing. He gets to breathe again, hesitates before asking.

“You were on a date?”

“My grandmother set us up.”

He exchanges a look with her, and smiles.

“Yikes.”

She returns the smile.

“Yeah, turns out money can’t buy character.” 

“Who knew?”

“My mom, that’s for sure.” Rory sighs. “She’s gonna say I told you so.”

“Sounds like her.” 

She looks relieved, he thinks, even if he can’t put words on why. He searches for something appropriate to say but fails, they haven’t talked, really talked, like they used to, since he left on his wild goose-chase to California. She saves him.

“Sorry for the trouble.” She says.

“No trouble.” He answers. “My dinner date just did another six months at Cheshire Correctional.”

She laughs, and he’s so happy from the sound it hurts a little. He shakes his head and shrugs.

“Liz’s friends.” He clears his throat. “I’m glad you called.”

There’s silence and he has to look at her, she shifts in her seat, tugs at her skirt and crosses her legs. Their eyes meet and she smiles. He tears away his gaze, places it on the road ahead, no way he repeats the debacle two years ago. Come to think of it, they haven’t been in a car together since, and here he is coming to get her, letting her in, driving her, like nothing ever went wrong like this. Her arm, the cast - He swallows thickly.

She speaks.

“Did I hear that right, did you walk Liz down the aisle?”

He clears his throat.

“Yeah, I was gonna make a fuss about it but then I remembered I’m tapped out on personal dignity anyway,” he gives a short, dry laugh, “with having to take final year over and all, so…”

She beams.

“Yes! I heard you finally graduated.”

The word ’finally’ stings a bit, but nowhere near enough to ruin this.

”Yeah, just done my time myself.”

She chuckles.

”I’m happy for you.”

He smiles.

”I guessed as much.” 

“So, what are you going to do now?”

“I start a new job in Hartford Monday, a bookstore.”

She smiles broadly, her eyes glimmer in the dimmed light from the dashboard.

“They’re so lucky to get you.”

He grimaces.

“Or the other way around; The gig came with a place to stay.”

“You’re moving to Hartford?”

“Just for convenience,” he says, bored by the subject. “How’s Yale?” He adds after a beat.

”Hard work, at least up until this morning.”

”And tonight?”

She sighs, rubs her temples a bit.

”A different kind of work. My grandmother felt I wasn’t interacting enough socially. The upside is this’ll get her off my back for a while.”

“I can think of a few other perks too.” He says, and they exchange another look that makes his heart pick up its pace.

It’s quiet and he’s just about to offer music when she speaks again.

”What happened last year, Jess?”

There was a time when he was afraid she’d ask this exact question, so much that he couldn’t bring himself to speak even after he’d managed to dial her number, and survived hearing her voice at the end of the line. But now he’s learned what the alternative entails - her absence and the space left by it in his life - and can’t wait to answer, even if the words still burn him coming out.

”My dad showed up, ran off, and like an idiot I dropped what I was doing and followed.” He takes a breath and pushes the rest out too, she deserves whatever he can muster in ways of an explanation. “It was like nothing mattered just then, not Luke, or work, or my quasi-girlfriend, or my below mediocre High School career, not even you.” He feels hoarse from the words, but knows it’s not the amount but the meaning of them that takes it out of him. 

“Dads are tough.” She mumbles, eyes locked to her lap.

What else can she say? She knows what he’s talking about, even if she never would’ve done what he did. 

“As soon as I set foot in Venice Beach I knew I’d made a mistake,” he goes on, “of course by then I was out of options and money. Luckily Luke’s a good guy, and gave me another chance when I came crawling back a few months later.”

She regards him for a beat before answering.

“And you always said he’d kill you if you dropped out.” She smiles. “He missed you.”

“I don’t deserve it.” His hands tighten around the wheel.

“I don’t think that’s relevant.” She picks at her sleeve in silent concentration. 

He doesn’t want to talk about it anymore anyway, just wants her to know. But there are things he’s itching to know too.

“What happened with...?” It’s beyond ridiculous that he still can’t say his name; Dean, one single syllable, he’s usually great with those, but now he has to try another word sequence. “I got back and you weren’t together-” His words are slow and fall away completely when he registers that she hasn’t made a sound in response.

He glances at her and finds her completely serious, staring at the glove compartment lost in thought. At once he’s afraid, and hurries to speak.

“Hey- you don’t have to tell me.” He’s dying to know, but he never will if he scares her off now.

She looks at him, opens her mouth and closes it, tilts her head.

“I broke up with him.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, suddenly I couldn’t stand being around him anymore.”

“Just like that?”

A moment passes before she nods and he knows that’s not the entire story, but it’s enough for the time being. Dean didn’t get a chance to invent some bullshit reason to break her heart, she dumped him, and couldn't stand him in the end. His heart pounds hard with exhilaration until it dawns on him that he’s wasted a year, an open window.

He considers offering condolences but is pretty sure she’d see right through them. He wants to take her hand, she might want him to too, but the moment is frail, and he’s driving, and they need to lay more groundwork anyway.

”Why’d you call me?” He asks.

There’s the tiniest of pauses, before she answers, sort of. 

“My spider sense picked up your silent screams and I figured you needed an out.”

A joke. He’s hot and cold remembering it‘s the way she handles tension, and that nothing else makes him feel like that; frustrated and tender at the same time.

“Why’d you come?” She tries.

“Because you called.” It’s weird being sincere like this, but he’s been dreaming of getting another chance and can’t risk letting it pass. “Care to actually answer the question?” He fixes her with a stare and she stops smiling, bites her lip instead and takes a slow breath.

”Mom and Luke are at that wedding together, I didn’t want to disturb them.” There’s a pause. “And I guess I felt ready to make up.” 

He can’t make a sound so he just nods. She goes on.

“I’m done being disappointed in something that’s been your m-o since we met.” She starts counting on her fingers. ”Exhibit A: You left for New York just like that-”

He wants to object, there was nothing ‘just like that’ about him leaving after the accident, and he still thinks she should have known why. But maybe her being oblivious, or even wilfully ignorant of his reasoning is part of why he’s so weak for her, so he stays quiet and listens to her evidence. 

“-Exhibit B: Then you just showed up back at the diner weeks later like a coffee serving jack in a box.” She chuckles a little at her own joke. ”Exhibit C: And then, at the end of the year you- You had to go.” She falls quiet and smiles again, but distinctly bleaker, and shakes her head. “I should have learned that the coming and going-thing, it’s just part of who you are, Jess.” She looks straight at him. “And I like you anyway.” 

The starving part of him devours her words, but there’s a bitterness to them, they come with terms he doesn’t like, he doesn’t want her to write off the wrongs he’s done as part of his personality.

She continues.

“You’re a roller-coaster-ride. And Lane reminded me that friends should at least try to accept each other, highs and lows and all, so I’m gonna try to be a better friend to you.”

Friends. They’ve never referred to each other that way, seemed too easy, somehow, but now he’ll take it, now he sees the appeal of its safety.

“You guys talk about me?”

She leans back on her theatrics.

“You wish!” She snorts with an exaggerated gesture. “It was just a general conversation.”

He nods and she looks at him, apparently deciding to soften whatever blow she imagines she landed. 

“But she’s argued in your favor a few times. I hope you appreciate her allyship.” She wags her finger at him. 

He laughs.

“I do.”

“She said you’ve been decent to her since she started working at Luke’s.”

He shrugs.

“Workers of the world, unite.”

She smiles quickly, but keeps talking, obviously has more on her mind.

“Anyway I don’t want to be angry with you anymore, it’s exhausting.” She sighs, her exhale shaking in some kind of laugh. “And an over reaction considering I wasn’t even your- the person who got-” She stops, bites her lip, and he’s just about to urge her to speak when she does. “Have you talked to Shane?”

He’s cold at the name, but slowly shakes his head while answering the question.

“She was long gone when I got back. It wasn’t working out anyway.” And it wasn’t her he thought about all the time.

She nods, and takes a breath, as if taking aim.

“There was this call at my graduation-” she starts, and he interrupts. 

“That was me trying to say I was sorry.”

The rest of her breath leaves her, with a note of her voice in it. He looks at her, and she smiles, genuinely, warmly. Then she leans back in her seat, and rolls down the window. The early summer air picks up the scent of her on its way into the car and fills his nostrils making his chest ache. 

They reach Stars Hollow and roll by the town square where the wedding is still happening, nobody notices them. They arrive at Lorelai’s house, still dark. He stops the car and turns off the engine.

“So anyway, thanks for coming to get me.” She says.

“Thanks for calling me. By the way, how did you get the number?” He twists his genuine curiosity into a joke.

“I remembered it,” she glares at him as he chuckles, “and stop smirking, what’s really shocking is you picking up!”

He doesn’t argue, but leans over to help her get the door up and places his hand on the seat next to her. He pushes it open and his hand brushes against her leg.

“Sorry.” He mumbles, looks up and gets tangled in blue.

She’s inches away and his eyes darts between hers trying to stabilise himself while a mesmerising impulse takes hold. For an insane moment it has him. He should kiss her, like he’s been wanting to since he met her almost three years ago, it’s right there. 

And then he feels the breeze from the now open door, imagines everything going wrong, losing her again, and he leans back in his seat. Impulse control is not his strength, but he has learned a few things from Luke, and now he hears his uncle’s voice in his head, calm, dry: it’s not instinct or intuition, it’s panic, and good things don’t usually come from acting on that.

He’s tired at once, can’t wait to get back to Luke’s and go to bed, to get to wake up tomorrow to an existence where he and Rory can talk to one another again.

“Okay, bye.” She says.

She gets out and closes the door, but he leans over to roll up the window.

“Talk to you tomorrow?” He asks, and feels vulnerable for it.

She smiles.

“I’ll come by Luke’s for breakfast.”

He sneaks into Luke’s apartment - years of practice makes him an expert at navigating the space surrounding the diner without attracting attention - and goes to bed, tired and wired at the same time. He listens to the sounds from the town square slowly falling away, and pretends to sleep when Luke comes home a while later, whistling until he opens the door to the apartment. He still feels her in his chest, and her leg, her skirt against his hand. But eventually he forces that stuff away and falls asleep just thinking about her blue eyes looking softly at him again.

* * *

_June, 2004_

**_Rory_ **

It’s a Tuesday, two weeks after the opening of the Dragonfly and almost a month since that disastrous night in New Haven. Rory is already grateful it happened. Graham was a small price to pay for getting to reconnect with Jess.

It’s been easy for the two of them falling back into old habits, talking, hanging out, reading, or listening to music. Jess is around a lot for someone who has a job, a place, and a roommate in a different town. But about a week back Luke got called out of town to help Liz, leaving Lane, Caesar, and Jess to split the shifts at the diner between them as best they could, and the amount of time Jess is spending here increased even more. His car seems to hold itself together through sheer will, driving back and forth between Hartford and Stars Hollow almost daily.

An early heatwave has driven her to spend time at the public pool, which she’s walking back from now, sun on her back. Caesar has the late shift at the diner so both Jess and Lane are with her, as well as the latter’s room slash bandmates. They’ve spent the better part of the afternoon swimming, goofing around in the water and seeking refuge in the shade in between. 

It’s late afternoon and sun rays paint everything they touch golden. It’s still warm, and Rory has kept her bathing suit on under her sundress to stay cool as long as possible. Her flip-flops make their calm, repetitive percussion against the soles of her feet and almost matches the rhythm of the three fourths of Hep Alien and their incessant chatting. 

Their voices fill the evening as they recount all the musical legends they know of from Sunset Strip. Lane is the one who introduced the subject. Rory knows it’s her way of indirectly giving Jess a hard time over what she considers the missed opportunities of his summer in Los Angeles, but he just smirks, and keeps his eyes on the road ahead. 

He glances at her occasionally, she knows because she does the same. The rest seem to be operating on a different plane of existence than the two of them, which causes Lane to abandon her passive approach. She turns around and walks backwards ahead of Jess, gesturing at him.

“I’m still pissed you didn’t get me anything from Amoeba!”

Jess lets out something between a sigh and a silent laugh.

“Will you let it go already? I think I had exactly ten dollars to spend on myself that entire summer.”

“And you spent it on Feeder-tickets!” Lane groans. 

“You know Smog played Troubadour in July.” Brian says. 

“And Bob Mould was there in August.” Zach adds.

“I like Feeder.” Rory inserts.

Jess looks at her with a smile that almost makes her fall over.

“I know,” he says.

“Ugh.” Lane sighs. “You two are nauseating, and a disgrace to good taste everywhere.”

Jess and Rory smile at each other.

They reach the apartment building that Lane, Zach, and Brian call home. Guano Apes blares from the open windows.

“What the hell, Zach!” Lane swears. “Why didn’t you turn the music off? Our landlord is gonna kill us! Or me, since I’m the only one with the balls to deal with her.”

Zach gulps and points at Brian.

“It was his idea!”

Lane turns to Brian with hands on her hips.

“Brian?” 

“It gets too hot if we keep the windows closed, but with the windows open the burglars don’t even have to burglar.” He explains, and only stutters once or twice. “The music is kind of our guard dog.”

“What burglars? This is Stars Hollow!” Lane barks. “You know Mr Kovacs works the night shift this week!” 

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry!”

“I’m so sick of being the brains of this operation!” Lane stomps her foot. “That’s it, you two are going to Doose’s right now to put together a fruit basket for him, and you’re paying for it.”

The boys make an attempt to protest but are stopped by Lane’s jagged gesturing.

“Fine!” Zach whines. “But we might as well do the shopping while we’re at it.”

“You were supposed to go this morning!”

“We got busy.”

“Smoking cigarettes and watching captain Kangaroo, I’m sure.”

Jess snorts, and Rory covers her mouth to hide a smile.

“Whatever you say.” Zach pouts, before changing his tone completely. “So… you got any money?”

Lane gapes at him.

“We all pay for groceries,” Brian clarifies.

Lane sighs and reaches into her pocket extracting a twenty dollar bill.

“Can you at least break it?”

“Sorry.” Zach snatches it from her hand.

The boys take off in the direction of Doose’s and Lane looks after them with a pained expression.

“I’ll never see a cent of that again.”

“Probably not,” Jess mumbles and reaches into his pocket, retrieving and offering a few smaller bills to Lane. “Take my tips.”

She tilts her head at him.

“What are you, made of money? You have rent to pay too, and grocery shopping to do.”

“I have two jobs, and a roommate who-”

“Who isn’t a child!” Lane yells after the boys, who are just entering the store.

Jess obviously keeps his tiny smile from widening.

“I was gonna say, who has a regular paycheck and no social life.” 

Lane glares at him and the money in his hand.

“Oh, come on,” he says, lightly, “we always split it, but most of it is due to your people skills, and you know it.”

She finally grabs the money in a quick motion.

“Fine. But that’s not gonna work the next time.” She wags her finger at him.

“I’ll have to figure something else out then.” He teases.

“I gotta get going,” Lane says. “Turn off the noise before Mr Kovacs has an aneurysm.”

“Probably wise.”

“But don’t think your terrible taste in music is forgotten.”

He holds up his hands.

“Obviously not.”

“I’m planning on grinding my teeth about it all night. Just, very quietly.”

“Don’t forget your mouthguard then.” Jess retorts.

Lane sticks out her tongue at him, and kisses Rory’s cheek before entering the apartment. A few moments pass before the music gets cut off and silence settles.

Rory pushes some dust around with the tip of her sole and glances at Jess. He looks back with a small smile. It’s been easy, slipping back into their old ways, and developing a few new ones. One of which is pauses, occuring in new and unexpected places in their conversations, causing her surprise but not displeasure, because words seem to be replaced by smiles instead. It’s nice, and uncomfortable, however that works. She starts moving to get out of their jam, and he follows. She heads for Luke’s where his car is parked.

“That was nice of you.” She remarks gesturing back toward Lane’s.

“Yeah, well, she was right about them being children. I feel bad about her having to be a single mom.”

“I feel stupid that I didn’t think to-”

“Don’t, you’ll get the next one.” He says. “You’ll probably have some better arguments too.”

Rory nods. They reach the car. Inside the diner Caesar dances around while putting up the chairs, he waves at Jess and Rory who return the gesture. Rory leans on the side of the car while Jess unlocks it, tossing his wet towel onto the passenger seat before pulling out his pack of cigarettes and lighting one. Rory wrinkles her nose and waves theatrically in the air between them. It’s been easy, too easy, forgetting any hard edges were ever present between them. He smiles at her and takes an effusive drag, blowing out the smoke in her direction.

“You’re back tomorrow?” She asks.

He nods.

“But I’m working all day. And then all weekend at the bookstore, Chris is going back to Philly to see his folks.”

“So, we’ll hang out next week?”

“You bet.” He takes a drag. “Any news on Luke and your mom?”

“Nope. They talk on the phone. And when I ask her about it she blushes.” She smiles at him and he returns it.

“Good.”

They are quiet again. He smokes his cigarette, squinting at the evening light that makes his irises shimmer. She squirms in her wet bathing suit, very aware of how it hugs her under her dress. She uncorks her water bottle, mainly for something to do, and tilts her head back drinking. When she opens her eyes she catches Jess staring at her, not her face, but her neck, her clavicle, lower, and her heart almost stops. His eyes flick to hers and he puts the cigarette between his lips while reaching for her towel hanging loosely over her shoulders, adjusting it using both hands, with great concentration.

She shapes the words with her thoughts, despite it being dangerous. ‘Kiss me’. Mostly she just lets them remain shapeless emotions without engaging with them. But now she imagines shouting into a megaphone, and he looks up at her face, hand still around her towel, as if he heard her. 

Voices from the sidewalk outside of Doose’s cut through the afternoon calm and make them both twitch and straighten where they stand. It’s Zach and Brian loudly discussing the price of the watermelons, the former with more aggression than warranted. Jess keeps his back to the store but listens to the discussion with an amused smile. Rory smiles too, until the boys head back inside having decided on a more reasonably priced cantaloupe, and pass Dean, standing in the doorway wearing his apron, looking straight at her and Jess, his eyes piercing. She quickly averts her gaze back at Jess who’s smile has tightened some. He bends down and stubs his cigarette out on the asphalt before pausing and looking up at her.

“Litter or not?” He asks.

She smiles broadly, unable to help it, then bites her lip as if giving it actual thought.

“Not.” She decides.

“Taylor-wannabe.” He mutters while stuffing the butt back into his pack.

“Hey, I’m the poster-girl of propriety for a reason,” she lightly retorts.

He chuckles at the reference and gets into his car. She steps away from it and they look at each other for a moment through his open window.

“Later,” he says.

“Later.”

He turns the key starting the engine and soundsystem which picks up in the middle of a Distillers-song. He drives off and she follows the car with her eyes until it disappears behind a corner. She swallows her disappointment and puts her hand to the part of the towel he adjusted. Looking down she sees a big dark spot under it and finds the wet from the bathing suit and her hair have joined forces, making every line visible through the cloth of her dress. She blushes so hard her skin itches. 

“God…” She mumbles, beyond embarrassed that she thought Jess was checking her out when he was just being a good friend covering up the stain. 

There’s no time to dwell on it though, because she’s suddenly reminded of the figure across the street watching her. Dean. He’s left his post at the store and moved toward her. She ignores him and starts walking in the direction of the house. He crosses the street obviously heading for her. Shoot. No way to avoid him, short of running. So, she stops and turns to face him. He looks the same way he’s looked at her since she broke up with him, an aggressive frown on his face that makes her want to mock him, but scares her too. She shoots her chin out anyway and crosses her arms over her dark spot.

“What?”

“So, is this how it is now? You’re with him?” He points at the corner where Jess and his car disappeared.

She clenches her jaw and starts walking again.

“I’m not having this conversation with you again.”

He walks beside her, his voice chipper on the surface but full of cracks.

“What’s he like? That girl Shane used to go on and on, is it true?”

Her tummy turns, but she ignores it and forces her voice to stay calm, cold.

“You know, Taylor is gonna take this little walk outta your paycheck.”

She picks up her pace, but he’s tall, his legs long, he keeps up, while still managing to talk at her.

“Practice makes perfect. At least that’s what I hear. I’m guessing you’re getting plenty of practice these days.”

Her throat burns, she swallows.

“We’re friends. Nothing more.” It’s true, even if it feels like a lie.

“But I’m betting you wouldn’t mind changing that.”

“Go away, Dean.” She even manages a little hand gesture to match her words.

He takes a few quick steps placing himself in front of her, breaking her pace.

“Fine. As long as you remember that this is my town too, and if you think I’ll go silently into the night, you got another thing coming, I can be all sorts of loud.”

She bites her lip until it hurts, stubbornly staring at the street beneath her feet, and waits for him to leave. He finally does.

“Bye Rory.”

She can’t hear his fading footsteps on account of her heartbeat, and won’t turn to look, so, she waits until she’s sure he’s long gone, then she walks, slowly. The poster-girl of propriety, her own joke hits a bit too close to home. Dean can’t hurt her per se but he can make her life uncomfortable, no use denying that. And he is in a position to hurt Jess, still vulnerable around here, and spiteful enough to, if it comes to that. They’ve been broken up for over a year without his malice toward her lessening in any noticeable way. And the worst part is that she can’t blame him. He’s behaving very badly, granted, but she can’t blame him. This place is it for him, when they broke up he dropped the idea of Southern Connecticut State, probably as it had her idea written all over it. He’s here to stay for all she knows, maybe her best option is surrendering Stars Hollow to him, at least for the time being.

Without registering anything other than her thoughts her feet have carried her home. She looks up and sees her grandmother’s car in the driveway. Uh-oh. She hurries inside.

Emily’s voice is clearly audible from the hallway, she shoves her towel into a corner, puts on her denim jacket to cover the stains on her dress, and drags a hand over her still moist hair. 

“I was meant to leave last week but had to wait, because apparently it’s impossible to bump even one single person out of an eighteen people strong church group-” comes from the kitchen, and Rory smiles involuntarily at the words. “I don’t see why, they’d still have seventeen people doing whatever missionary work might be needed in Europe of all places.”

Lorelai stands by the kitchen counter pretending to be very busy with shores, rearranging boxes of mallomars in the cupboard for no apparent reason. Emily stands right next to her, obviously missing the indications of her daughter’s circular activities.

“Hi grandma!” Rory says cheerily.

“Rory!” Emily turns and puts her cheek to hers. 

Lorelai gestures frantically and incoherently behind her back.

“I heard about that Graham!” Emily shakes her head. “They’ll let anyone into the DAR these days.”

Rory smiles graciously, it’s the closest she’ll get to an apology, but she thinks that she has herself to blame for going along with it in the first place, and since her associations to the evening have very little to do with Graham now, she’s willing to forget about it. Lorelai continues gesturing but Rory pointedly ignores it.

“I hope you didn’t come all the way out here about that.”

“Actually,” Emily says, and Lorelai’s gesturing intensifies, “I came to offer you a ticket to Europe…” Her grandmother explains her reasoning and her plans, and Rory listens even if she makes up her mind quickly. 

An hour later Emily’s gone and she’s packing. 

“Are you insane?” Lorelai chimes. “Europe with your grandmother? It’s gonna be like A Room With A View! Trust me, I’ve literally been there.”

“Well, did you get whisked off your feet by a passionate yet eccentric englishman? I could use some of that.”

“What are you on about? You've been making doe-eyes at Jess the whole month!”

Rory keeps from gasping, is pretty sure it wouldn’t sound nearly as indignant as she would need it to be.

“I have not! And he certainly hasn’t made any at me.”

Lorelai smiles, like she’s got it all figured out. 

“Oh, is that what this is about?”

Rory loads as many pairs of socks into her arms as she can fit. 

“Not even close.”

“And you're leaving tomorrow night!” Lorelai gestures. “We were going shopping on Saturday! The cute place!”

Two pairs of socks escape Rory’s embrace like scared bunnies and she drops to her knees to pick them up.

“She’s trying to make it up to me after that whole Graham fiasco.” She explains. “Saying no would be like not forgiving her.”

“But that would be a good thing! Emily Gilmore needs to be kept on a short leash otherwise she’s a very bad dog.”

“Mom!” Rory stands up in a sharp motion. “The cute place will still be there when I get back.”

Lorelai glares helplessly while Rory drops her socks into the suitcase, then she seems to give up and unfolds her arms.

“You can’t pack like that.” She goes, and starts picking up pairs of socks from the bag in jagged motions. “What could you possibly need this many pairs for?” She drops them onto the bed. “Hold on, I think I have one of Emily’s packing lists at the bottom of my drawer just to be able to tell her that I do, I’ll go get it.” 

“Thanks, mom.” Rory says.

Later, Rory texts Lane and Jess to tell them the news, and gets all caps envy back from Lane, and much later an economically worded reply from Jess saying that he’ll try to make it in time to say goodbye. But when the car rolls around the next evening he’s nowhere to be found. 

She paces the hallway in her travelling clothes, a white collared shirt tucked into a pair of high waist beige chinos that Lorelai has kept hidden in a zipped up clothing bag, according to her for the same reason she kept Emily’s packing list, which incidentally finished with recommending this particular outfit for its 'comfort and casual elegance'. Rory can’t say she’s feeling particularly comfortable, and even if she uses all her acceptable excuses to delay, eventually she can’t anymore. So, she kisses her mother, walks outside and gets into the vehicle which immediately sets off in motion. 

When they turn onto the broader street she spots Jess on the sidewalk. He looks at the car and she waves at him before remembering that the windows are tinted. He follows the car with his eyes as it pulls away and she, unseen, looks back at him as he gets smaller, and feels unreasonably heartbroken, while her grandmother coolly monologues about their travel plans beside her. She pulls out her cell phone and texts him. ‘You missed me :P I’ll send you a postcard. I expect it’ll arrive sometime in november. See you sooner.’ Then she waits for a reply for as long as she can stand to - not long - before turning off her phone, breathing through it and letting it go.

Europe is beautiful the second time around too, but she’ll come to refer to the trip as the Postcard-tour; Everywhere she and Emily go looks like the postcards, and they keep moving with even intervals, ten cities in four weeks, or something like that. She loses track, and is dizzy when she comes back. 

By then Lorelai and Luke are definitely happening, as well as her second year at Yale, Lane has fallen in love with Zach, and Paris is mourning the passing of her ancient boyfriend. In a way Rory doesn’t feel like she gets to truly touch down until she goes to see Jess in Hartford. His work has swallowed him and he’s tied up there most days, but they go out for lunch. It only takes a look and a smile for her to feel ground beneath her feet again. They eat and talk and it’s all so reassuring and familiar, it makes her giddy, but something is different, even if she can’t put her finger on what right away. She follows him back to the bookstore. His colleague and roommate Chris is a playful type who seems an unlikely match with Jess, but he’s really nice. 

It’s first after she leaves and has put a block between her and the bookstore that it hits her: The pauses, in their conversations, they’re gone. She has to stop on the sidewalk to process it, and when she starts walking again it’s with a mixture of emptiness and relief. He’s safe, she thinks, just that phrase. From what? He’s safe. 

She has to get back to New Haven, she’s promised Paris to help put up flyers for Asher’s wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “In eternity there is no time, only an instant long enough for a joke.” - Herman Hesse


	2. The Magic of a Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously on Gilmore Girls: Alright, we’re about ready to get to the real story. It’s roughly half a year later and Rory’s well into her second year at Yale, Jess works in Hartford, but if you think I’ve told you everything, think again. Two and a half years is a long time, and six months too for that matter, especially when you’re twenty years old. I couldn’t possibly account for all of it, and, some of the work has to fall on you, I believe you’re up to it. Let’s begin.

_ January, 2005 _

_ Jess _

It’s late Friday, and Jess and Chris are about thirty minutes from closing up the store, they’re just waiting for the last customers to finish their business. Jess’s phone rings. He glances at the screen, ready to push decline, but it’s Rory. It’s been eight months since she left for Europe, he still never misses a call.

“Hey.” 

“I’m in deep shit!” Her voice is high-pitched already, but rallying too, like she’s partly putting on a show for him.

He chuckles.

“Your last name is Gilmore, right? Just get new shoes.”

“Ha-ha. Neck-deep. I’m drowning here, man!”

This might be a while, he moves the phone from one hand to the other and takes a few steps toward the corner of the store to make sure no customer hears that it’s a personal call. Clyde, who owns the store, is cool about many things but he shares Luke Danes’s aversion to cell phones and the way their reach keeps expanding.

“What’s going on?”

“She’s out to get me.”

“Who is?”

“My grandmother!”

He stifles a sigh and starts untangling himself from the conversation.

“Okay, I’m with a customer right now-”

“Remember when she set me up with that guy Graham?”

He pauses. In his head he’s back outside the bar in New Haven, back in the car with Rory and her soft eyes. 

“How could I forget?”

“And while we’re on the subject, have I thanked you lately for being my knight in rustbucket-armour and picking me up?”

Damn, she’s good at this.

“Not for a month or so, actually.”

“Way overdue then. Thank you.”

Now he actually does sigh.

“Quit sucking up and get to the point.”

“Well, she's doing it again!”

“What?”

“Setting me up with some crusty great grandson of the American revolution, only this time his name is Eligible Argyle!”

He laughs, loudly this time.

“I don’t know what it is but ever since we got back from Europe she’s been back on my case about seeing someone-”

He leans on the doorframe to the storage and absently picks on a flake of loose paint.

“She and your grandfather are separated, right? She’s projecting.”

”Unfortunately, recommending therapy isn’t going to get me out of this.”

He curves his hand over his mouth to direct the sound of his words toward the speaker, and make himself clear,

“Just say no.”

She snorts.

“That’s not an option!”

He smiles grimly.

“Well, I guess that’s it then. It’s been nice knowing you Mrs Argyle.”

“Help me!” Her voice is a mix between a laugh and a yelp.

He pushes off the wall and gestures as if she is really here.

“How could I possibly help?” He exclaims, and the last remaining customer turns to him, looking startled. “No, not you, sir-” He covers the speaker with his hand, and gestures to get Chris’ attention: “Chris, could you assist this gentleman?” 

Chris approaches the man and Jess heads to the back. 

“Be my boyfriend!” 

He halts in the middle of a step, there’s a distinct pause before he manages to speak, and he forces a hard edge into his voice to cover up his bafflement.

“Excuse me?”

There’s a cough on the other end, maybe an attempt to laugh. 

“My pretend boyfriend! Actually I just need a name to drop.” Is she serious about this?

“Make one up!” He tries.

“You’re the one always calling me a terrible liar.”

“Saying we’re dating would qualify as a lie.”

“But you’re a real person!”

He takes a moment before confirming her statement.

“I am.”

“So I’d only be half lying.”

“Wow.” He can’t help wild amusement from creeping into his voice, and he shakes his head.

“Okay, maybe two thirds of a lie.” She continues on the other end, almost to herself.

“This is what they teach you in that fancy school of yours?”

“It’s the only thing I can think of to get her off my back!”

She is serious. He clears his throat.

“Forgive me, but I was under the impression that you already had an actual boyfriend: Skip Huntington or whatever his name is.” He knows his name, he just prefers not to speak it.

“Logan Huntzberger, and he’s not my boyfriend.” She says.

“How long have you been sleeping together?” He pushes the words out theatrically to cover up how uncomfortable they make him.

“Just a few weeks, I can’t count winter break. That’s partly my point. And he doesn’t even date!”

He has to hold onto his voice now, or it’ll leak into the store.

“What does that even mean?” He near hisses. “The least he can do is offer up his name to get you out of this! Also, I’m pretty sure your grandmother would be more satisfied with Skip Huntington Esquire, saying you’re dating Jess Mariano works-for-hourly-wages might cause more problems than it solves!”

“I don’t have to be that specific.”

He can’t believe she’s serious. 

“From what I’ve heard about Emily Gilmore that’s barely scratching the surface of what level of detail you’ll need to pull this off.”

She’s quiet, and it’s because he’s right.

“Just ask Logan.” He tries, softer.

“I can’t.”

He sighs.

“Well, what about that guy you’re friends with, Marty- at least he attends Yale!”

“I can’t do that!”

“Why not?”

Her voice lowers distinctly.

“It’s not the kind of friends we are.”

She’s serious, he has to be the opposite.

“Rory, get real. This through the looking glass existence you got going is best handled by waking up.” He snaps his fingers.

There’s a sigh.

“Yeah. You’re right, Jess.” She mumbles. “Sorry. Thanks for talking me down.”

He has this sinking feeling, he has it around her a lot, but he keeps his voice even.

“Delighted to be of service. I’ll see you Sunday.”

“Absolutely.”

They hang up and he takes a breath before getting back to work.

After closing he and Chris go to get dinner a couple of blocks from the apartment they share. The place in question gets by on good burgers and low rent despite calling itself Eat the Bourgeoisie. They order, get the food and sit down. Usually Chris will hassle Jess about the phone call, he’ll go on about the fewer fractions of seconds it takes him to respond when it’s Rory calling, Jess will tell him to fuck off, rinse, repeat; Usually. But not tonight. Tonight, Chris is quiet. Afterwards Jess feels like he should’ve known.

“So, listen, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something,” Chris starts after half a beer, “it’s been, what, a couple of months since I broke up with Lily”

“Glad we’re no longer keeping track of days or hours.”

“I hear ya, but the thing is-” Chris sighs, chews on a reluctant fry. “What’s the whole reason I moved here?”

Jess shrugs.

“Lily. You told me so an embarrassing number of times.”

“That’s right, so now…” Chris holds up his hands.

The penny drops and Jess takes a gulp of his beer to avoid exposing his reaction. Chris goes on.

“And my friend back in Philly, Matt, he’s dropping out of Penn State, and has it in his mind to start up some kind of publishing house, and with my history in fanzines-”

“I get it.” Jess steels himself and looks at Chris with the blankest stare he can muster. “You’re moving back.”

“Beginning of March.” Chris confirms.

Jess nods, then raises his glass.

“Well, good luck, man, that’ll teach you to not make decisions with your nether regions.”

Chris laughs, he’s generous like that. He clanks his glass to Jess’ and they each take a sip.

“Thanks, but I wasn’t done.”

“Okay?”

“Listen, you’re a great administrator-”

Jess laughs dryly.

“You are!” Chris insists. “I’m not. And Matt certainly isn’t. If we’re gonna stand a chance we need someone like you, so I figured… You.”

“Get real.” Jess says, for the second time that day.

“I’m serious as a heart attack,” Chris says, and looks it. “You should come with me, help us get started, stay if you wanna, work on your own writing.”

Jess smiles, shakes his head, and peels at the label on his beer bottle.

”Yeah, I’ll be sure to fill that notebook of mine.” He mumbles.

He keeps from facing Chris and his offer for as long as he can, but there’s not many seconds left now. Chris once more shows proof of immense generosity and leans over the table.

“Don’t answer now. Think about it, there’s no rush yet, just-” He gets quiet.

“Just what?”

“You got nothing keeping you here that I know of-”

“Hey, I may not be Miss Congeniality but I have people here.” Indignation is good, he can work with that.

“Yeah well, I have people in Philly.” Chris shrugs, apparently unfaced by Jess’s defense. “The right people don’t go away just ‘cause you do, your uncle seems to be the bedrock of that town of his, and I get the feeling your mother’s staying put there too. As well as your girlfriend.”

“Not my girlfriend.” Jess responds automatically.

“I rest my case.” Chris finishes. 

They pay and Chris heads back to the apartment while Jess excuses himself to go for coffee. Their shared place is small and they frequently scrape for alone time in the establishments close by. Only, tonight he needs to be by himself for different reasons. The sad truth is that he’s never had a friend like Chris, someone able to stand his sharp edges long term, and him moving back to Philadelphia is a genuine loss. As for the offer he doesn’t even consider it in any real way, people may stay put but that doesn’t mean they don’t move on. He can’t leave. He already did that once and it almost ruined everything. 

He gets in line at his favorite place, listens to the familiar sounds of it and keeps a lookout for his usual table, empty in the corner. In his peripheral vision he catches someone staring at him. He ignores it until he can’t anymore and turns his head slightly. 

It’s Shane. She’s ahead of him in line by a couple of people. He hasn’t seen her in… well, he’s not keeping track in any kind of unit, but he knows that he hasn’t since senior year, the first one, before Jimmy came along and blacked everything else out. It’s obvious he’s seen her now, and she stares straight at him, face blank, but attentive, as if she’s waiting for his reaction. He forces a tight, tiny smile and nods at her in an acknowledgement. She finally blinks, and quirks her mouth in a crooked smile, still low-maintenance apparently. 

He takes out his wallet and keeps his attention fixed on it until it’s his turn and he has to face the barista, by then Shane isn’t anywhere in his line of sight. So, he gets his order and heads for his table, but it’s occupied; Shane is sitting there waving at him to join her. Why didn’t he order an espresso? And the way he moved toward this corner, on purpose and habit, he can’t get out of it now. He smiles his tight smile again and pulls out a chair, sits down without removing his jacket, that’s something. 

She’s still cute. Her hair is dyed pink now, a nose ring, and blue fingernails that she taps on the surface on the table, facial expression shifting between sweet and provoking, she never could hide a thing. Finally she crosses her arms behind her take away cup, caramel latte from the look and smell of it.

“So.” She starts, and for a second he thinks that’s it, that’s the line she’s going with, but: “How’ve you been?”

He puts an extra second into considering his answer.

“Pretty decent. You?”

“Great,” she immediately replies, a hint of spite in her voice. “I work at this record store, down south- surprised to find you this far north anywhere- got a room in this collective on Franklin, pretty sweet, and I work at Rock Inn on weekends.”

“Cool.” He says, grateful Chris isn’t here to witness this encounter.

“So,” she says, once more, shooting out her chin. “That was pretty shitty. What you did to me.”

He has to look at her, anything else would be shameful. She blinks at the eye contact, and clears her throat, leaning a bit closer and lowering her voice, apparently she’s not as blunt as he remembers.

“I mean we were sleeping together, and you just-” She gets quiet and bites her lip.

He feels worse than he imagined he would.

“I know.” He says. “I'm sorry.”

She looks startled, probably wasn’t expecting an apology just like that, he feels bad for her again, for different reasons. 

“What happened?” She asks.

“Went to California,” he doesn’t say why, it’s probably a bad idea explaining himself to her, “came back, had to take senior year over.” He offers his humiliation to her as a sacrifice.

She laughs, more than just a little schadenfreude evident. Good.

“That’s so embarrassing for you!” She says and slaps his lower arm lightly.

He nods, and swallows everything down.

“Yes.” He confirms.

She looks at him for a few moments, like she’s evaluating him. Uh-oh. He takes the time to down as much of his coffee as he can without it seeming like he’s doing it to get out of there. She chuckles quietly, tilts her head.

“Look at us,” she says, “back in the same town again.”

He puts down his cup, he’s halfway to the bottom.

“You seeing anyone?” She asks.

He thinks about those two thirds of a lie and the dramatic irony of this. Rory was right. Just mentioning a name, just saying you’re seeing someone, it’s a fib, at least in this type of situation. He tries to say it, but apparently takes too long.

“We should hang out sometime.” She establishes.

He throws his hands out gesturing at the room which they’re in together.

“No, I mean, you should come by the club, or the store.”

He considers objecting, but finds he’s actually trying to make up for being such a useless boyfriend to her.

“Give me your phone.” She orders.

He hands it to her and she calls her own cell, saving his number on it. Then she gets out of her seat and inches back into her jacket. 

“See you around.” She leans down, kisses his cheek and exits the coffee shop.

He waits another minute, stares at his coffee without touching it, before wiping his cheek, getting up and getting out. He walks slowly. It’s a freezing, clear night, the kind that can usually keep him walking for a while, but tonight he finds no peace in it and heads straight back to the apartment.

The place gets listed as a two bedroom and they pay rent accordingly, but it’s really more of a one and a half situation since one of the rooms doubles as a kitchen. That’s where Jess sleeps. Chris has the smaller bedroom, but the one suited to just that purpose. He has the option of closing the door around him but never does. Tonight is no exception. Jess steps inside and winces at the maxed out volume of Chris’s crappy laptop speakers filling the apartment, curses and heads for his roommate’s bedroom. Chris has fallen asleep with the laptop balanced on his tummy, utterly unable to stay awake when watching something on his own. Jess closes the computer and places it on the bed stand before shutting the door behind him. 

He’s still in his jacket and walks back out into the hallway to hang it. He stops with the garment half off and stares at the postcard featuring Ponte Vecchio Rory sent him, it’s stuck inside the frame of the mirror. He doesn’t turn it over. 

He’s just picking out his phone from his pocket when it chimes. He opens the message despite already knowing it’ll be from Shane. ‘So great seeing you xoxo.’ That settles it.

* * *

_ Rory _

Afterwards she couldn’t say why she called him first to vent, or why she asked him this favor like it was nothing, but he usually picks up after the first signal and maybe that’s part of it. Her fingers acted as if they were sentient dialing his number. Just like that night in New Haven back in May. She didn’t plan on it, but his voice, his smile audible in it, caused her to lose it. She had time to think as they spoke, to change her mind, but it was no good, the words were already in her mouth and wouldn’t be traded for others. 

Now of course, she’s so embarrassed she could die. But Sunday comes, and she has to go to Stars Hollow. 

Since Luke got back from his involuntary adventures at the ren faires last summer, Jess works at the diner every Sunday. At first she was confused, but then she figured out that it started when Luke got together with her mom, who never works on that particular weekday; It’s a favor, to give the happy but constantly overworked couple a day a week off. So, she decided to join him, to keep morale high, is what she said. Mostly she’ll sit at a table and study or read, he’ll take his breaks with her. If it’s busy she will help out as best she can, and if it’s slow they’ll just kill time, play cards, talk, or listen to music, and it’s comfortable, but today she’s nervous. For no reason, she tries telling herself. 

She enters the diner and Jess glances up at her while taking an order from Kirk, normally he’ll smile at her but not now. She’s faint from the disappointment, and leans on the doorframe chewing on her lip. Jess finishes with Kirk and turns to her.

“What?” 

“You’re mad at me,” she says, and before he has time to object she goes on, “about the call, right? Jess, it was so stupid, I’m so sorry-”

“Don’t be.” He interrupts, and closes the space between them in two steps. “Use my name.”

She stares at him, gaping, before an unstoppable smile spreads across her face.

“Really?”

He presses his lips together in a nonchalant grin.

”Try not to wear it out.”

“I make no promises to that effect.” The relief makes her cocky.

He shrugs.

“Coffee?”

“Please.”

She sits at the counter, he pours her a cup.

“You’re a good guy, Jess Mariano, don’t let anyone tell you different.”

He winces.

“Pretty sure I’m an enabler,” he leans on the counter, “and as it turns out maybe not doing this out of the purest of motives.”

“Really?” She leans closer too.

“I might need a name to use myself.”

“Really?”

“I ran into Shane.”

“Really?” She maintains her sensationalistic tone but her heart skips a beat at the name. “How was she?”

“The same.”

“What will she say if you use my name?”

“I don’t think she’ll be in a position to speak as she’ll probably evaporate after the second syllable.”

She wants to ask more about it, but there’s a ding from the kitchen bell as Caesar finishes an order, and Jess delivers it before pouring a cup of coffee for himself. 

“So,” he says after a first sip, “what will you say I do for a living?”

Instinctively she picks out a notepad and a pen from her bag and readies to make a list.

“I don’t know. Any preferences?”

“Obviously not.”

“Well, it’s probably not good pushing the boundaries further than I’m already gonna be doing.”

“So, no early graduation from Harvard.” He wipes imaginary sweat from his forehead.

“No.” She says. “I think the truth is enough.”

He snorts.

“What?” She objects and starts writing down his pros on the paper. “Instrumental to your workplace, well-read, an up-and-coming writer-”

“-Keeping a journal,” he interrupts, “bookworm, barely graduated after five years in high school, but granted, smart enough to cling to the positions I can get-” He adds.

She slams her pen onto the pad with a decisive thud and glares at him.

“You’re great and that’s that.”

“Get outta here!” He gestures dismissively.

“Not until I’ve had my coffee.” She takes another sip. “It’ll be fine, it’s not like I’m gonna present you as a prospective husband, just someone I’m dating.”

He shakes his head with a smile.

“‘Just’.”

“Don't expect me to explain my family’s insanity to you.”

The door chimes when new customers enter and she moves over to a table instead, picking out her book. An hour later he takes his lunch break. He brings food for the both of them and joins her at the table. She remembers that she actually has things to tell him about her life in general, not just the insane parts, even if she’s been preoccupied with those lately.

“So, my paternal grandfather died.” She says.

Jess has just picked up his fork but drops it again.

“How is this not the first thing you tell me about your week? Are you okay?”

She smiles faintly.

“Yeah, I’m okay. We didn’t even- I didn’t know him all that well, he was kind of a mean man.” It’s true, and she doesn’t feel bad for saying it, the next thing, however: “It’s just, my dad showed up probably trying to tell me about what was going on and I blew him off. I feel crappy about it.”

He tilts his head.

“So you’re not okay?”

“Maybe not. We made up, and I feel bad for him, but I still don’t-” She huffs air through her nose, frustrated. “Did you see that Luke built an ice rink in front of our house?”

He smiles, softly.

“Segues aren’t your thing, huh? Yeah, I saw it.”

“You don’t need a segue.” She points her fork at him.

He sighs.

“Ror, they’re fine.”

She takes a deep breath and forces a smile, and doesn’t tell him about her mom comforting her dad with a bottle of Tequila, or how Luke doesn’t know about it, tries not to think about it either, to be honest.

“So,” she says instead, “what have you learned this week?”

He laughs in recognition of the question, it’s a thing they do, his fault really, he wouldn’t stop asking her about the books she reads for her courses, so she decided to interrogate him right back, now it can be any one of them who asks the question first.

He leans his head in his hand.

“This week I learned…” He taps his index finger on his chin. “That Hemingway’s early work was stolen at Gare de Lyon because all of it was packed into one convenient suitcase.”

“Belonging to his wife.” Rory smiles. “You’re reading A Moveable Feast.”

He smiles and goes on.

“Four years later The Sun Also Rises was published in a different kind of prose.”

“Cleaner. Shorter. Duller.” She fills in.

He laughs.

“Quicker to write. So, it turned out to be kind of a clean slate for him. Losing everything.”

She raises an eyebrow.

“That’s a surprisingly sunny way of looking at it.” 

“Hadley was sick. The only reason she was even on that station was because he asked her to come, so…”

Her cheeks go warm and she smiles.

“Jess Mariano, you romantic, you.”

“Shut up and tell me what you’ve read.”

“A physical impossibility.”

“Come on!” 

She takes a breath to get the entire title out in one go.

“Cultural Disenfranchisement with Women’s Role Models for my gender studies. Don’t laugh!”

“I’m not laughing, I’m smiling, it’s a completely different vibe.”

“Will you be picking up a copy of your own?”

“On my salary?” He takes a bite of scrambled eggs and speaks through chewing. “I’ll borrow yours when you’re done.” 

She smiles, and finishes her meal.

After lunch Caesar’s shift ends and Jess works on his own. Rory stays until closing though. Then they say goodnight and she drives back to Yale.

She gets through the week dodging Emily’s calls but has to face her come Friday. Her grandmother is right about Rory and Lorelai being somewhat talked out after drinks at the pool house. Fortunately she has enough to say on her own, after about fifteen minutes of bashing this week’s maid, and recounting DAR-gossip however, the monologue takes a sharp turn that has Rory topsy-turvy. 

“I was talking to Dorothy, Archie’s mother. And she said that to her knowledge he isn’t involved with anyone, too focused on studying, but she seemed thrilled at the idea of pairing him up with Rory-”

”So, the dog’s gone, huh?” Lorelai remarks, and Rory smiles into her napkin.

”What’s your point, Lorelai?” Emily says, tightly.

“Grandma-” Rory starts.

Emily turns back to her.

“For goodness sake, Rory, it’s just a date, not an arranged marriage!”

“I’m seeing someone.” Rory pushes out.

Emily’s lower lip drops before she gets a handle of it.

“You are? Why didn’t you mention this the last time we spoke?”

It’s already difficult, and she’s not even entirely lying yet.

“I felt silly, it’s kind of new.”

Emily smiles a little in a way that makes Rory go cold.

“So, maybe not that serious?”

Now comes the real lying, three, two, one:

“No, we’re serious, I mean, we’ve had the talk and decided we’re exclusive. So, unfortunately-”

Emily’s face goes tight again.

“Oh. Well, tell me about your mystery man then, who is he?”

“He- uhm. He’s a relative of Luke’s actually-” As soon as she says it she knows it’s the wrong thing to lead with- Lorelai’s eyes widen and Emily near frowns. “His nephew,” she clarifies, “Jess Mariano.”

Lorelai stares intently at her food, to hide her wild, wide smile. Rory keeps her eyes at Emily, she doesn’t need to see to know what’s going on with her mother.

“Luke’s nephew? The one who crashed your car?” Emily doesn’t wait for an answer but turns to Lorelai, kind of sharply. “Did you know about this?” 

Lorelai shrugs, and when she raises her face it’s impressively blank.

“It’s news to me.”

Emily turns back to Rory who has to keep from flinching.

“Well?”

“Well,” Rory goes, forcing resolve into her voice, “he hasn’t crashed a car in years.” She smiles. “He’s doing pretty well for himself these days.”

Emily’s eyes narrow.

”What does he do? And is Mariano italian?”

“One question at a time, missy.” Rory jokes, but Emily purses her mouth, so she clears her throat. “His father is third generation, yes.” She adds, taking a bite of her seabass, hoping Emily will forget the other question for now, but it is naive of her, of course.

“And?”

“Could you pass the peas, please?”

“Rory!”

“Oh, uhm, he works at a bookstore here in Hartford, actually.”

“A clerk?”

“More like a manager considering his tasks,” Rory starts, trying to recall all the great things she had on her list the other day, “they really couldn’t do without him-”

Emily interrupts.

“Well, you must have him over for dinner sometime.”

Rory glances at Emily’s face to make out how serious she is, while chewing and swallowing her food. Etiquette is actually a great tool for pacing a conversation, she’s discovered.

“Sure.” She responds, having decided on disappointed disinterest being the primary emotion evident in Emily’s expression.

“Next week?”

Maybe she was wrong. Her relief freezes to an ice-chard in her chest, and she smiles wider to make up for it.

“I’ll have to check with him first, I’m sure he mentioned being tied up for a few weeks,” she tries.

“Of course, busy days for printed literature.” Emily says with unmistakable sarcasm before smiling a bit. “And a lot can happen in a few weeks.”

They finish their meal and make their excuses. They’re barely out the door before Lorelai starts shaking from contained laughter.

“So, you and Jess, huh?” She manages.

“She was gonna make me marry Archie!” Rory exclaims. “Jess said I could use his name.”

She makes her way to her car, parked behind Lorelai’s Jeep.

”This is a terrible idea!” Lorelai says while smiling broadly.

Rory frowns at her mother.

”Must be genetic. Have you gotten over that hang-over yet?” She retorts, ignoring Lorelai who sticks out her tongue at her. ”And of course it’s a terrible idea, it’s a desperate measure. And why are you smiling?”

Lorelai leans on the side of Rory’s car effectively blocking any access to the door.

”Before I tell you I feel that as a mother I’m obliged to say exactly why it’s a terrible idea.”

”Go ahead, if you must.” Rory sighs.

Lorelai takes a breath, and holds up her hand to count on her fingers. 

”Emily will find out you’re lying because she always does, things are gonna get weird between you and Jess, and whatever you got going with your blueblood boyfriend-”

”He’s not my boyfriend!”

”-is gonna fall apart, because-” Lorelai holds up her other hand and begins counting on that too, “-a: this is weird, and b: every guy I’ve seen interact with Jess save his uncle has felt threatened by him, it’s just the effect he has on human males.”

“There will be no interaction-”

Lorelai, apparently not listening, goes on: 

“Did you learn nothing from what happened with Dean?”

Rory shifts her weight and crosses her arms.

“What do you mean happened with Dean? Nothing happened.”

“He was crazy jealous when Jess showed up!”

“And it was completely unfounded! We’ve been nothing but friends since then.”

Lorelai tilts her head and smiles.

“You’re so sweet thinking that makes any difference.”

“Dean hasn’t been relevant for a long time.” Rory says tightly.

“Sorry, but I needed an example.”

“And Logan is nothing like Dean.” Rory pouts.

Lorelai stops smiling.

“Well, I’d know nothing about that, of course.”

“I already told you-” Rory starts, but Lorelai interrupts gesturing with her counting fingers still sticking out.

“He doesn’t date, I know, you told me, pretty sure he’s still a guy. And, also-” Lorelai wiggles her fingers, lips moving when she goes over her arguments again. ”No, sorry, I was done,” she lowers her hands, “but I feel I’ve made some very strong points. This is going to blow up in your face.”

“Which brings me back to: why are you smiling?” 

Lorelai’s smile broadens.

“Right! Because that was just my opinion as a mother, remember?”

Rory sighs.

”And as a best friend, what are your thoughts?”

”Here goes, as a friend I only have one thing to say.”

Rory gives it a few moments, hoping that Lorelai will tell her herself without her having to participate in the dramatic dialogue, but alas.

”What?” She finally asks.

Lorelai makes a fist and moves it with the rhythm of her words:

”Chug, chug, chug, chug!”

Rory smiles and shakes her head.

”I’m gonna go with that, you know.”

”I was hoping you’d say that.” Lorelai straightens and moves away from the car door. “It’s gonna be immensely satisfying watching this unfold, I’m gonna stock up on popcorn-”

”I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.” Rory picks out her car key from her bag.

”It’s gonna keep me fed through the winter.”

”You’re a terrible person, thanks!” She unlocks the car.

”I can stop watching my soaps!”

“Are you done?” She taps her foot at Lorelai.

“Lemme think about it.”

“Mom!” Rory opens the door and prepares to get in.

“Fine, just-” Lorelai puts a hand on hers resting on the car door.

“Just what?”

Her mother’s expression softens.

“It hasn’t escaped my attention that you care about Jess.” 

“Very observant.” Rory quips.

“He’s not just any friend.” 

Lorelai catches her eye and holds her gaze. Rory has to respond honestly, otherwise she’ll never get out of here, and it’s a cold night.

“No.” She simply says.

“So, tread carefully.”

“I will.”

Lorelai pats her hand.

“You’ll try.”

Later, back at Yale, Rory’s trying to fall asleep, but her head won’t stop murmuring. 

Why can’t she ask Logan? Because everybody is crazy about him, the girls competing for his attention are legion and, sure, he makes her feel special, but she is sober enough to realise that that’s probably how he makes everyone feel. He always makes her smile, and if she asks him he’ll have to give her a serious answer that might be less likely to amuse her. And at the end of the day the two of them are not exclusive, and asking him to pretend to be her boyfriend could be seen as a cheap trick, a trap. It is complicated.

Then she inevitably thinks about Dean with whom nothing was complicated, at least not on surface level, but who couldn’t seem to stop making her cry. They say you only wind up remembering the good times, that hasn’t been true for her, maybe it’s different for him, but probably not judging from how he glares at her whenever their paths cross. 

They haven't spoken since that day in June. She’s seen him a few times outside of Doose’s, and once at Weston’s with that sweet girl Lindsey Lister. That was strange. She got stuck looking at them, sitting at a table, heads tilted and smiles on their faces, quietly talking. And part of her wanted to jump in front of Lindsey, like some bodyguard, ready to take a bullet, while another part spoke overly calmly, softly, inside her head, and said that maybe this girl will be right for him, maybe he’ll be right for her, maybe they’ll make each other happy. But then Lindsey got up for a refill and Dean spotted Rory, tackling her with such a bludgeoning glare that she abandoned her mission to get a cherry danish completely and hurried out of there. And she thought, he won’t be happy with Lindsey, or anyone, because he hates Rory Gilmore so much. It’ll never be over.

She avoids thinking about Dean because it’ll trap her for hours if she’s not strong enough to break out of it. Sometimes she uses Jess for that, it always works. Of course then she’s thinking about him instead which comes with its own set of problems. But tonight she doesn’t feel like fighting it. So, lastly she thinks about Jess, and everything goes kinda quiet, like it does, whenever she allows herself to, and she gets to fall asleep, eventually. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Who hath not owned, with rapture-smitten frame, the power of grace, the magic of a name?” - Thomas Campbell


	3. Whatever Suits the Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously on Gilmore Girls: Okay! Rory and Jess see each other on a weekly basis on Sundays at Luke’s. Roll credits. And they’ve made a deal to fake-date each other. Which means we’re in business. Capricious, chaotic business. I hope you’re not shocked that Logan is in the deck? This is a crazy time in Rory Gilmore’s life after all. Shane though… She was a bit of a surprise for me too. So yeah, I’ll be the first one to admit that this story has less of a love triangle going and more of a love polygon. Let’s see how it develops.

_February, 2005_

_Rory_

The weekend passes. She goes to a party with Logan, Colin, and Finn on Saturday and winds up drinking too much. She still sets an alarm for the next morning, wakes up in Logan’s bed and feels like dying. She forces her way up anyway, Logan doesn’t wake up, and probably won’t for the next four hours. She drives to Stars Hollow and drags her feet into the diner. 

Jess is already busy with customers but he smiles at her when she enters. There’s a feeling she gets, like she should tell him something, and it itches in her head while she picks out a table to anchor herself to. She sinks down in a seat, leans her chin in her hand while watching him scurry between tables, and it dawns on her that she should tell him that her plan of just dropping his name into the mess that is life with her grandparents is already falling apart. But instead she ignores her problems, and leans her forehead in her arms. She stays like that, in darkness, listening to the sounds of the diner. 

For a while it feels like she’s asleep, but then there’s a shuffle right next to her and she raises her head, runs a hand through her hair and blinks at the light. Jess stands next to her with a plate in one hand and a coffee pot in the other, a mug dangling by the ear from his pinky. She musters a smile, and he shakes his head.

“What are you doing here? You should be sleeping it off.” He says, but places the plate with bacon and toast in front of her.

“And ruin the sanctity of Sundays at Luke’s?” She objects, taking a big bite of the bread.

He smiles at her and puts down the mug filling it with coffee. Her throat aches all at once. He looks at her face and she feels too bare for some reason, so she picks up the mug, taking a gulp and burning her tongue because of it.

“I’ll get you some water,” he says, walking off.

She drinks, fills up on fatty food, and coffee. The day is grey. Lane shows up to help with lunch and brings the new Bright Eyes which they end up playing on repeat even after she leaves. Rory eats more, reads and finishes her article for the Yale Daily News, then feels back to normal. 

She and Jess don’t talk about their arrangement at all, and she worries a bit about it without being able to tell why, but chucks it up to her not telling him about them having to renegotiate the terms of it already. 

They do talk about other stuff, and do their usual exchange: She’s been reading a book from her semester in the game theory class, that may have been a bust, but that doesn’t mean she’s ever ready to drop anything completely. He in turn has learned that french fries were named from the knife used to cut them rather than indicating a country of culinary origin. 

On Monday she stops by the paper to drop off her latest piece, but Doyle seems to be having some kind of nervous break-down, and in her chair, so there’s no way of avoiding asking why; Apparently Mitchum Huntzberger has caused him distress demanding he make Logan write more, or at all. 

Rory’s reluctant to get into the conversation, her seeing Logan isn’t a secret, but their casual status means she’s not safe flaunting it in any way, especially not with her upset editor. However, she does feel bad for said editor. Also there’s the fact that all the socialising she and Logan do seem to be on his terms, and maybe it would be nice to turn that around for once. And there’s Paris giving her the stink-eye, like she should feel bad for being involved with someone causing so much trouble. And there’s the thing about Seymour Hersh. But ultimately she can’t stay away from any writing assignment, at least that’s what she tells herself when she promises Doyle she’ll help.

Afterwards Paris and Rory are walking back to their room.

“I can’t believe you’d volunteer to do your fuck buddy’s homework!” Paris exclaims halfway there, suddenly, a hint that she’s been trying to stay quiet. “Don’t you have enough on your plate?”

“You wouldn’t understand, Paris.” Rory sing-songs.

“Thank god for that.”

“Rory Gilmore?”

Rory turns toward the sound of the voice and spots a vaguely familiar guy at the end of the hall. He smiles and starts walking in their direction. As he walks it falls into place for Rory where she’s met him, who he is. She smiles and keeps it plastered to her face while grabbing Paris’s arm as discreetly as she can manage.

“I need you to go along with everything I say for the next few minutes and save the questions for later, can you do that?” She mumbles.

Paris doesn’t get time to answer before the guy catches up with them. He’s not bad-looking for a guy actually wearing an argyle sweater. But neither was Graham, Rory sternly reminds herself.

“Rory!” He says.

“Yes, hi!” She responds sunnily.

He reaches for her hand and she takes it.

“Archie Elgyn, we met at the alumni-thing at your grandparents’ house.”

“I remember.” She remembers yachts, lots and lots of monologuing about yachts.

“My mother mentioned she and Emily had been talking, and I figured we could put an end to all that if we just went for coffee.” He winks at her, and she wills herself to smile wider.

“I do like the sound of coffee,” she responds, “but you know it’s a gateway drug-” she wags her finger and he laughs “-and I actually have a boyfriend.”

He stops smiling, and she shrugs apologetically. 

“Unfortunately my grandmother’s hearing isn’t what it used to be.”

“I coulda sworn you were single when we met at the Gilmores-”

She nods.

“I was, but these things can happen so quickly, you know how it is.” 

He probably doesn’t. He clears his throat.

“Well then, is it anyone I know?”

“I doubt it, he’s not a Yale-man.”

“Princeton then? ‘Cause I got a few friends there-”

“College isn’t for everyone.”

Archie laughs.

“Then maybe there’s nothing wrong with your grandmother’s hearing.”

Sixty seconds, that’s how long it took him to show his true colors. 

“Oh, it’s selective, that’s for sure.” She coolly admits. “I appreciate the offer and I hope you’ll let our relatives know, but I am unable to accept it as I’m taken.”

Archie smiles tightly, nods, and walks away. Rory waits until he’s rounded a corner before facing Paris who has her hands on her hips and is squinting at her.

“Since when are you seeing anyone but Huntzberger?”

Rory starts walking in the direction of their place.

“Since my grandmother started harassing me for lack of better things to do.”

Paris picks up her pace to keep up.

“So he’s a figment-boyfriend? Couldn’t you have come up with a better one?”

Rory sighs.

“I didn’t come up with him, just the part about us dating.”

“Who were you talking about then?”

“Jess.”

“Your townie friend with the hopeless taste in literature?”

Paris isn’t even trying to be mean. To her, that’s probably a reasonable epithet. Rory still gets defensive.

“He’s not a townie! He’s from New York.”

“That title isn’t so much about geography as it is about dispositions.”

“Paris!” Rory stops, and stomps her foot.

Paris crosses her arms.

“Huntzberger know about this?”

Rory goes cold, and takes a breath to pace her answer.

“No way. And if I can keep him out of it I’d like to.”

Paris laughs, a short, silent little laugh.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why would you wanna keep him out of it?” Paris leans closer. “He certainly has no qualms about going out with other girls. A little competition would be good for him.”

Rory turns away from her.

“You’re sick.”

“You're the one with the fake boyfriend.”

Paris starts walking and now it’s Rory who has to keep up.

“Me and Logan are cool.” She says, but Paris doesn’t answer. “No strings attached, just having fun.” 

Paris smiles smugly, and Rory keeps going: 

“I don’t need him to be jealous, I hadn’t even thought of it as an angle.”

“Well, aren’t you lucky to have me as your campaign manager?” Paris says.

“Yeah, lucky!” Rory quips.

They reach their room, and Paris fishes out the keys from her purse, unlocking and opening the door. They get inside and Rory’s more than willing to spend some alone time in her bedroom. But Paris stops her on her way in there.

“You know that phrase ’fake it ‘til you make it?’ Well, sometimes you’ll do that unintentionally.”

Rory takes a deep breath and closes the door behind herself.

She meets Logan for a first work session that night, his place, but they barely get anything done. It’s the strangest thing how she can agree with Doyle’s stance on her would-be boyfriend, and still like him; She’s equal parts frustrated and jealous of the way he’s able to live his life. They’re sitting in his bedroom, Rory’s on the bed with sheets of paper spread out around herself while Logan is perched on an armchair next to the half-open door leading to the living room where Colin and Finn are hanging out. He keeps stopping to chuckle at something said out there. After the fifth interruption, Rory demonstratively clears her throat.

“See, I’m sure I didn’t say ‘hang out’ this time, I said ‘work’.”

Logan looks at her and tilts his head.

“Most workplaces have other people in them, lots of distractions too.” He says, and smiles that smile of his.

“I suppose you’d know all about that.”

“Ouch, Ace.”

“Get over here and at least browse my notes while I read yours.” She gestures at the papers surrounding her.

“Not fair, yours are the length of Olysseus.”

“And yours are barely existent, so technically you get the easy part; just sorting out what you don’t want, whereas I have to imagine where you’re going with this.” She squints at a scribble.

He sighs, gets up and makes his way to the bed.

“Why did you volunteer for this anyway?”

“Just trying to help.” She answers lightly.

He sits down, and the impact of his body creases some of the papers at the edge of her system. She frowns at the disturbance, and reaches to correct it.

“But I don’t care, so I don’t need it, your help, that is.” He grabs her hand. “In fact, my not writing goes a long way in hopefully convincing my father that the family business isn’t for me.” While he speaks he studies her fingers, like he’s performing a manicure of some kind.

“I thought you said he was a bully, would he care about such trivialities as you being cut out for something?” She frees herself from his grip. “He would probably put you in the financial department, mergers and acquisitions, and fair enough, I haven’t figured you out completely yet, but I’m thinking actual writing might be a better fit for you.”

He stares at her, as blankly as he can for someone who’s always kind of smiling.

“Is that why we’re here? So you can get to know me better? If you wanna see more of me, just ask.”

She briefly considers actually having the conversation, but decides against it, and directs her eyes back to his notes.

“Doyle needed the help.”

Logan groans. 

“This efficient, professional version of you really reminds me of the early days.”

“Of the school year?” She mutters.

He chuckles, and stands up.

“Of you and me getting familiar.”

She lowers the paper she has in her hands.

“Is that good or bad?”

“It’s distracting!”

“I’m the one distracting you?”

He walks over to the door and closes it completely.

“Where did you go Sunday?” He asks. “I woke up and you weren’t there.”

“And that was when? About two in the afternoon?” She teases.

“One o’clock.” He says without missing a beat.

She smiles and shakes her head.

“You know, some of us consider Sundays independent days too - not just the other side of Saturday.”

He walks back to the bed, and stands next to her.

“Most girls like to stick around. I make the best afternoon brunch.” He strokes her hair.

“Good to know what most girls generally like.” She tilts away from his touch.

“Oh, come on Ace, you’re not jealous, are you?”

“No, just busy.” She holds up some papers for emphasis.

He sits down next to her and for a minute she thinks he might actually get something done, but then he hooks his fingers into the rim of her pants and pulls them outwards, theatrically peeking into them.

“Do you have specific underwear that go with this prudent disposition of yours?”

“Get your mind outta the gutter.” She says, but doesn’t slap his hands away.

“Tell me.” He purrs. “Or better yet, show me.”

She sighs, but lets go of the papers, putting her hands around his neck instead..

“You know, you’re very lucky you’re so pretty.”

“And rich, why wouldn’t you mention rich?” He smiles, and kisses her.

The next time they meet up it’s Wednesday, and it’s at the bar. The place is warm and crowded and smells of winter clothes and beer. Still, Rory has decided it’s a more efficient venue because he can’t talk her into bed here, and as far as distractions go the crowd is actually no worse than Colin and Finn. She still does an uncomfortable amount of the work considering he’s the one getting his name on the by-line and she can’t help thinking of Paris’s not so eloquent summation of the situation. 

The most irksome thing is that he’s blind to what it could mean to have the connections he actually has at his fingers. Now and again she tries to bring up Seymour Hersh and the party and winds up wishing that she hadn’t, because the disappointment that he obviously won’t bring her is one thing, but the gnawing question of why he won’t even consider it is worse. What other girls could he be seeing for him to have better alternatives for his escorts to this event? And then she feels bad, like some kind of gold digger for even thinking it. All the while he drinks beer and gossips and she thinks again to herself that it sure is lucky that he’s so pretty, but refuses to mention the rich angle, even to herself.

It takes a third session to finish up, on Friday afternoon, once again at the bar. They’re packing up and he asks her- like an afterthought- that sticks with her afterwards:

“Hey, what’s this I hear about you having a boyfriend?”

She just gapes for a few moments before gesturing, palms out.

“Where do you get your news?”

He smiles broadly, amused.

“A very credible source that I’m not sure I feel comfortable revealing.”

She’s going to kill Paris.

“Uh-huh.” She squints at him. “Well, if you won’t budge you could at least tell me who I’m supposedly dating.” She puts her hands at her sides.

He shrugs.

“No one I know, some italian guy, apparently.” With the last words he looks at her, gaze alive, like he’s interrogating someone.

She’s burning up, literally, must be.

“Wow, Ace.”

“Who told you?” She manages.

“I’m sorry, miss Gilmore, but it’s the right of every reporter-”

“Logan!”

“Fine, it was your grandmother.”

She stops her mouth from dropping open this time.

“You talk to Emily?”

His expression doesn’t change, he just looks at her, with that smile on his face.

“She called me, wanted me to attend some function, we got to talking about you and the last time I visited the Gilmore residence…” He raises his eyebrows. “Turns out I’m not the only man in your life.”

She crosses her arms.

“You know you shouldn’t listen too closely to my grandma, now, had it been my mother-”

He interrupts.

“But you know who Emily was talking about?”

“Yes! It’s my-” She takes a breath and paces herself. “His name is Jess Mariano, and he is not my boyfriend.”

Logan nods along with the words.

“Just someone you're seeing, huh?”

“You see lots of people.”

His smile gets bigger.

“Fair enough. No one my grandmother knows about though, and not just ‘cause she’s dead.”

“Well…” She shrugs, and decides the truth cuts it, if anyone would understand it’s Logan. “Emily likes to play matchmaker, I needed to name someone to get her off my back. Jess was a mensch about it.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” Logan chuckles.

He doesn’t believe her.

“Logan-” She starts.

“No, it’s fine, I just-” He pauses and shakes his head a few times. “I’m normally not wrong about people, but you’re apparently more of an enigma than I thought.”

She closes her mouth and smiles. Maybe Paris is right about it being a good thing that he thinks this about her after all. He goes on.

“You’re a player, Ace.”

She gasps and slaps his arm.

“I am not a-” She stops herself as something else occurs to her. “Wait! What function?”

His eyes widen some and he actually blushes, the first indication of any discomfort during this whole, very uncomfortable conversation. Then he smiles again.

“You’ll find out soon enough, today is Friday, right?”

It certainly is and she certainly does. Within two hours she has arrived in Hartford with her mother for Friday Night Dinner and heard the news: Her grandparents are back together and it’s cause for a major celebration. 

Once Lorelai is back from trying on dresses with Emily they sit down for drinks. Her mother puts a finger to her side.

“You get to be best man?”

Rory smiles, light-headed from giddiness.

“It’ll be great, I get to wear a tux, and I’m thinking up hairstyles as we speak.”

“I’m so jealous.”

“Yeah, I’m sure wearing a new, sparkly dress is just a nightmare for you!” Rory laughs.

“Naturally you’ll both bring dates.” Emily says, distinctly tighter. “You, Lorelai, will bring Luke, so make sure he dresses appropriately, and you, Rory, will bring this person you’re seeing.”

Rory’s cold in an instant and feels like such an idiot for not considering that this would be a direct result sooner. She presses her lips together, smiles and nods anyway, she doesn’t have a choice. 

As soon as they’re back in the car Lorelai starts in on her.

“I told you so. I so told you so.” She laughs.

“Thanks.” Rory growls.

* * *

_Jess_

It’s Saturday and Jess is on his way home when his phone rings. He sees who it is and almost doesn’t pick up, it’s too easy figuring out what it’ll be about. Luke doesn’t call if he can help it, unless there’s some kind of emergency. Maybe he should be surprised that it took his uncle this long to find out about it. He takes a breath before answering.

“Yeah?”

“Is that how you answer your phone? And what’s this I hear about you and Rory?”

Jess can’t help smiling, there’s a distinct satisfaction to being right, even about bad stuff.

“I don’t know, what are you hearing?” He answers lightly.

“Don’t play dumb with me.” Luke says. “That the two of you are in some advanced role playing game in which you’re romantically involved.”

“Thanks for bringing me up to speed.” Jess moves the phone from one hand to the other, it’s cold out and he’s not wearing gloves.

“What are you doing, Jess?”

“I’m doing her a favor, that’s all.” He answers, keeping his voice calm. “Her grandmother was hassling her, I’m just her get outta jail free card.”

There’s a snort on the other end, before Luke goes on.

“Oh, I have my own unfortunate experiences with Emily Gilmore, I’m sympathetic to Rory’s struggles, but this, what you’re doing, is not a favor. A favor is helping her install her DVD-player, carrying furniture when she moves, buying her a cup of coffee-”

“Mind your own business.” Jess sing-songs.

“It could be dangerous.”

Jess stifles a sigh.

“She asked me.” He simply says.

“I’m not talking about her, Jess.” Luke says. “You see, Rory is like Pippi Longstocking-”

“What are you babbling about?”

“Nevermind.” There’s a pause. “It’s one thing to dream and another to pretend-”

That actually stings, even if he refuses to think about why, instead he interrupts, voice slightly raised.

”She’s the one doing the pretending and barely that, it’s a trademark issue, nothing more.”

”Trademark?” Luke sounds equal parts confused and angry, a common combination for him, and not a very constructive one.

“Okay, this conversation is over. Take a pill please.”

“I’m just looking out for you.” Luke objects.

“Thanks, but I’m a big boy, I can handle myself.”

There’s an ominous laugh at the other end that keeps Jess from hanging up.

“You can handle yourself, huh? Well, I sure am relieved to hear that considering you’re going to have to escort Rory to the Gilmores vow renewal next week.”

Jess stops in the middle of the sidewalk but fails to put together a response before Luke goes on.

“The old folks reconciled, and that, my friend, means an obligatory function for the men lucky enough to date the Gilmore girls.”

Jess goes cold.

“I gotta go.” He mumbles.

“I bet.”

He hangs up and remains standing, rubbing his hands together to get warm. He considers calling Rory but decides against it, this is her business after all, and she’ll have to bring it up before he deals with the headache surrounding what to do. 

On their Sunday rendezvous she winds up evasive as ever, though. And she used to call him Dodger. He’s not the chatty type normally so he thinks he pulls off acting normal. She takes a seat, spreads out her books and dives into whatever subject on her curriculum is most pressing. He looks at her when he has the chance and every time his heartbeat picks up, at the prospect of having to escort her to any sort of official function, he tells himself. But he is also acutely aware of being torn. Because he wants to be in this with her, to know her world, what it’s like to live in her skin, and that knowledge you can’t really accumulate by being just any pal. You have to go the extra mile.

It’s not busy, but there’s a steady stream of people and it’s past lunch before Jess runs out of pressing things to do; Just a couple of customers remain, sitting in the corner and working on what seems to be their last refill of coffee. He plays M83 at the request of Rory, who abandons the studying and takes a seat by the counter, apparently attempting to discuss the music but falling flat when he meets her remarks with no more than confirmations. He focuses on cleaning the coffee maker, and waits for her to speak her mind. Eventually he notices she’s fallen quiet and turns around. She’s sitting with her half-eaten doughnut and her coffee mug, biting her lip and looking at him, serious.

“What?” He goes.

“You’re quiet.”

“No, you’re quiet.” He puts down the rag he’s used for the coffee machine, and leans on the counter. “Is there anything you wanna tell me?”

She blushes, but stubbornly shakes her head.

“Luke called me.” He says.

She gasps in indignation and slaps his lower arm.

“Why’d you leave me hanging if you knew?”

”I want to hear you say it.” He points his index finger at her. “You should at least be responsible for your own lunacy.”

She sticks out her lower lip.

“I need you to go to a function with me.”

“Rory-”

She leans across the counter, palms together.

“I swear I had no idea- There’s no way I could’ve anticipated this!”

He tilts his head.

“Don’t give me that look like you know everything!” She says. “And if you did then why did you say yes? You apparently knew about this before I did! Doesn’t that mean you’ve already consented?”

He can’t help himself but bursts into laughter. She glares at him and he tries to get it together.

“I’m sorry,” he says, pinching the root of his nose, “but this blowing up is kinda funny. I’m betting you feel pretty stupid not going with that Marty-guy right about now.”

She shakes her head, determined.

“No, that remains, just, not a good idea. He hasn’t been around much lately for one thing, and he couldn’t pull it off anyway! His face is too honest.”

“Well, thank you.” He snarks.

“I meant- “ She goes, in a softer tone. “It’s like your superpower. Nobody could take you in poker.”

There’s silence. 

“You wouldn’t even have to do that much!” She tries. “My grandparents are gonna be busy gazing lovingly at each other, you and Luke could probably sneak off with a case of beer after dinner.”

“Stop trying to sell this with the worst ideas possible.”

“Jess, please.” 

His name, her plea, there’s silence. He’s scared, but he can’t deny that he wants it. She goes on.

“It would be a behemoth of a favor, I would owe you-”

“Okay.” He says.

“Okay?” She smiles.

He holds up his hands.

“If you think I could pull it off. You’d be the only one.”

She squeals, slides off her chair and runs behind the counter to hug him. The customers left in the diner look up from the commotion. His attention is torn from their glances and engulfed by the impact of her body, her warmth and scent that could easily cause him to lose grip of time and space. They normally don’t hug, and she apparently remembers that after a moment, quickly pulling back and clearing her throat. He produces a smile.

“I’m doing this for me too, you know.” He says. 

Her face shifts into a puzzled expression.

“It might be my only chance to be a first hand witness to this rabbithole life of yours.” He clarifies, more serious than he sounds. “And you’d owe- what was it?” He taps his lower lip with his finger. “’A behemoth of a favor’.”

She laughs, equal parts surprise and amusement in the sound.

“You’re a good guy, Jess Mariano-”

“Yeah, yeah, I won’t let anyone tell me different.” He picks his rag back up to busy his hands. “Just, don’t make me regret this.”

She straightens, returns to her seat and he half-expects her to salute him.

”I won’t, I promise.” She says, seriously. “We should do some planning.”

He nods.

”Of course.”

“Later this week?”

“We should probably talk now, I’m gonna be busy all week and I know you think it’ll be easy, but you’re underestimating the gaps in my knowledge about polite society.”

She blushes.

“You’re right. After work?”

“After work.” He confirms.

He turns the sign a few hours later, when it’s gotten dark. The street outside is empty, it’s a cold night, frost clinging to the corners of the windows and climbing toward its centers. He hits the switch so the only light left is the one behind the counter and the small ones at the tables closest to it.

“First things first:” he starts while untying his apron and hanging it over the back of a chair. “I don’t have anything to wear.”

She laughs, but obviously jumps straight into fix-it-mode, pulling out her notepad from the bag and clicking the stylus out on her pen, while he takes a seat on the stool next to her.

“Doesn’t Luke have anything?” She asks.

“Pretty sure he’ll need that one outfit himself.”

“Right.” She taps her pen against the paper, still without writing anything. “Well, I could-” She starts, but falls silent, cogs clearly turning, then she lowers the pad and pen, and her voice with them, for no apparent reason. “I could ask Logan.”

Jess thanks his lucky star for blessing him with an established dishonest face and raises his eyebrows.

“So, he knows about us?” ’Us’, what is it about that word?

“Kinda.” She says slowly, and he would investigate further if he wasn’t so eager to get off this topic.

“Good,” he manages instead, “but I think I’ll see what Chris has laying around.”

“Oh, okay.” She quickly says, picking her pad back up and jotting something down. “Any other problems to solve?”

“Probably, but I wouldn’t know where to start.”

She bites her lip and looks him up and down.

“Shave.” She says. “Comb your hair back.”

“Should I be taking this down or will you do it?” He teases.

She smiles, and starts writing her own instructions down.

“Don’t wear brown shoes with black garments. And at the table use your silverware from the outside in.”

“I’ve seen Pretty Woman.”

“Well, how on Earth am I supposed to know that?” She gestures vividly.

He smiles.

“Don’t speak unless spoken to is actually good advice,” she goes on, “mainly because it helps keeping things simple, but if someone speaks to you don’t try to get out of it, just keep the focus on the other person which has the added side effect of you coming off as attentive.”

“Noted.”

“Let me lead-”

“Gladly.”

“Go along with what I say-”

“Got it.”

“And…” She starts and stops.

“And?”

“And, I know it sounds strange under the circumstances, but, be yourself. I actually think you’ll fit in, you’re more graceful than I am, and you look-” She falls silent and goes adorably pink.

“How do I look?” He does his best to sound cocky, but he’s genuinely hungry for this kind of attention from her.

She sighs sharply, and stares at the pad in her hand.

“Like, you could star in some modern Austen adaptation, alright?”

He smiles, nods, before being overcome by a thought.

“How- How do we-?” He gestures between them.

She looks up.

“Behave around each other?”

“Yeah.”

“Like we like each other.” She smiles.

“No lies, then.” 

“No, but-” She clears her throat, and straightens her back a little. “We should probably touch each other more than we generally do, you could hold my hand, or keep your arm around my waist or something.”

He nods, and fixes his gaze to the surface of the counter, picking at a crack with a fingernail.

“Do we kiss?” He asks on an exhale, hurrying to add more words. “Do kids kiss at these things?” He chuckles to himself. “Jeez, I’m so far out of my depth here.”

“Yes, young couples can kiss on these functions,” she says, “not like you and your girlfriends though-”

He stares at her, the corners of his mouth twitching.

“’Me and my girlfriends’?”

She rolls her eyes.

“Fine, you and Shane, the way you used to make out in public-”

He can’t help a vicious smile spreading across his face.

“You watched us make out?”

“You were in public!” She leans her forehead in one hand and uses the other to emphasise her words, while her cheeks go red. “And it was like a car crash, you knew you shouldn’t look and yet you kinda had to.”

He ignores the accurate car crash analogy and focuses on teasing her.

“Learn by looking, huh?” 

“Shut up! Do you wanna know about kissing or not?”

“I thought I was the expert.”

She lifts her head from her hands.

“Do you?”

He reels in his smile and clears his throat.

“Yes. Teach me.”

She picks her pen and pad back up.

“It’s okay to kiss. Kissing is generally expected from young couples as a sign of affection, the usage of any tongue however is frowned upon.” 

“So what does that mean for us?”

There’s a tiny pause.

“That we don’t have to, but should probably be able to.”

He nods slowly.

“So you’re saying we need to practise.”

He looks at her, and she doesn’t look away.

“Maybe,” she says, voice low, “so it doesn’t seem like we’ve never done it before.”

He slides out of his seat.

“Now?” She mouths.

He shrugs.

“No time like the present.”

She chuckles nervously, he steps closer.

“You said Luke called?” She starts.

He moves so that there’s less than an inch between them. He can’t think about what he’s about to do, so he focuses on his own weight shifting, the reflection of the light in her hair.

“Yeah, he’s worried.” He absently answers, moving his gaze to some knitted intricacy beneath the collar of her polo shirt.

“Well, tell him it's just temporary, the family will be back to normal, whatever that means, in no time.” She says, words falling all over each other.

He nods, and reaches to take the pen and pad from her grip placing them on the counter next to her.

“So, what have you learned this week?” She asks, as a last resort.

He tilts his head.

“Nothing so far, but I think that’s about to change.”

She laughs, quietly on an exhale, and he stops, holds still, decides to respect the tradition of their exchange. If she’s too nervous a kiss might be bad for her, and that can’t be allowed to happen. He doesn’t withdraw though, just remains standing close to her, and speaks:

“And what have you read?” It feels strangely intimate asking her the otherwise mundane question when they’re physically close like this.

“Chain of Command by Seymour Hersh,” she mumbles, eyes flicking between his eyes and mouth, “not for school though, he’s just, really impressive.”

Jess nods, distracted by the thunder of his heartbeat.

“We’ve never kissed.” She says, voice slightly broken.

“I’m aware.” 

He reaches for her wrist, to have something to hold onto, but the feel of her skin on his palm makes him dizzy. He feels her breath on his face, slightly quickened, he meets her eyes and smiles, to reassure her, but probably himself too. She swallows and returns the smile, sits still. They know each other, and now they’ll get to know this about each other too, finally, he adds helplessly. He wants to know this about her. He looks at her mouth and caves to its gravity, leans in, at the exact moment when there’s a shuffle by the door. 

He uses the last of his self-control to turn his face from hers as Luke tumbles into the diner, halts and looks at them. Jess picks up his apron, and returns to his place behind the counter while Rory frantically sweeps the pen and pad into her bag and slides off her stool.

“So I’m gonna-” She clears her throat. “-go, call if you- we’ll talk later. Bye Luke!”

She’s out the door in seconds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Ah! replied my gentle fair, Beloved, what are names but air? Choose thou whatever suits the line: Call me Sappho, call me Chloris, Call me Lalage, or Doris, Only, only, call me thine.” - Samuel Taylor Coleridge


	4. Impolite Society

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously on Gilmore Girls: So much for Emily’s eligible bachelor, but Logan is another story, and he’s attending the wedding renewal, that should be interesting. And can you believe Rory and Jess almost kissed? Even as a practice run it kinda makes you wonder what would’ve happened if Luke hadn’t shown up. How do you think Jess will navigate high society? Let’s go see.

_Jess_

It’s the lull before lunch and the store is nearly empty save an older woman who’s busy reading the entire poetry section. Chris is rearranging the trinkets for sale by the registry, obviously hesitant about the prospect of having to tell the lady to take it to the library. 

Jess is refilling the bestseller-shelf by the window and almost jumps out of his skin when he spots a figure staring at him through the glass. He turns to see that it’s Shane. She waves enthusiastically at him and he raises his hand and smiles politely. She heads for the entrance and almost knocks the bell off it’s hook when entering the store. 

Chris jerks at the sharp sound, but smiles when he sees what caused it. Jess refrains from shaking his head since he should have known; Chris is stubbornly into girls with her style, girly punk, and also seems relieved at an excuse to not have to wrestle with his little old freeloader dilemma by the poetry section, and so leaves his place behind the counter.

“Can I help-?” He starts, but Shane heads straight for Jess.

“I didn’t know this is where you work,” she says, “I was just walking, minding my own business and there you were.”

“Here I am.” Jess confirms. “This is Chris.” He adds, trying to redirect her attention to his hopeful friend.

“Christian.” Chris says, probably just to take up as much space as possible.

Shane shakes his hand briefly, but doesn’t introduce herself.

“This is Shane.” Jess says, slight sharpness in his voice.

“Like the movie,” Chris notes, just like one thousand people before him, and Jess winces at the lack of game.

“Yeah,” Shane says after a short, but pointed pause. “So, I was thinking about you coming to visit me at the club-” She says, distinctly to Jess.

“What club?” Chris asks, refusing to quit.

Shane tells him curtly, and turns back to Jess, this time with a theatrical quality to her movements, like she can’t believe she keeps getting interrupted.

“How ’bout Friday?”

“Busy Friday.” Jess says.

“Hot date?” She immediately asks.

“Something like that.”

He doesn’t offer more information, just because it’s safe to lie to her doesn’t mean he likes it. There’s a pause while she processes his response, then:

“Well, the next one then?”

“We’ll be there,” Chris says, and ignores the way Jess turns and glares at him.

Shane frowns at Chris for a second before apparently reconciling herself to this compromise and giving him his first smile. 

“Great. Well, I gotta go. See you next Friday, MGMT are playing.”

She leaves. The bell chimes as the door closes and an ominous silence settles.

“She’s cute.” Chris goes.

Jess does his best to vaporise him with the power of his mind.

“Was I too obvious?” Chris asks, apparently immune to Jess’s razor-gaze.

“You’re welcome to her.” Jess says through clenched teeth.

“She likes you though.” Chris says, looking too mopy for Jess to stay mad at him.

“For some reason.” Jess sighs. ”Been there, done that, dumped her horribly.”

“Well, that explains it.” Chris gets back to his rearrangement project by the counter.

“You think she wants revenge?” Jess looks in the direction where Shane disappeared.

“You’re beyond paranoid,” Chris says, “maybe she just needs a win, for the same reason people keep playing Ghosts and Goblins.”

Jess stares blankly at him.

“God, you’re a nerd.”

Chris rolls his eyes.

“Ouch, grandpa.”

Jess gets back to the best-seller shelf.

“Why did you have to tell her we’d be there?” He complains after a few minutes. “I’d like to avoid my way outta this.”

“Well, she knows where you work now, and she doesn’t seem the type to do vague. Gotta take the bull by the horns, man.”

“And provide a chance for you to get lucky.”

“That’ll just be a happy side effect.” Chris smiles.

Jess works like a dog all week, and has little time to consider his new problem which is just as well, one at a time seems more reasonable. He’s just gotten home on Thursday when his phone rings. It’s Rory, so he picks up and pinches the phone between his cheek and shoulder while inching out of his jacket in the hallway.

“Hi.” She says. “Just calling to check off our list for tomorrow.”

“Shoot.”

“Clothes?”

“Check.”

“Close shave?”

“First thing in the morning.”

“Air of self-importance and unapproachable elegance?”

“Apparently I was born ready.”

She laughs and he smiles, walking into the kitchenette.

“So I’ll see you there tomorrow at about eleven-” She starts.

“The ceremony isn’t until one o clock.”

“Ah, yes,” her smile is audible, “but you’re escorting someone from the wedding party, and even if I’m the best man on paper I’m still technically a lady, and tradition states that male dates spend a quota of at least ten hours per season just waiting around.”

“Waiting?”

“Usually in hallways of different kinds.” Is she enjoying this? “But you’re lucky, this is the Windsor club, so they’ll have exceedingly comfortable armchairs, and books, loads of books.”

“I’m lucky, huh?” He picks out a frying pan. “I think you’re lucky we didn’t set an hourly rate for this gig.”

“Luck has nothing to do with it.” She chuckles. “But don’t worry: You’ll have Luke as company.”

“Oh good.” He mutters and picks out ham and corn from the mini fridge.

“Did he-?” She goes quiet.

He straightens his back.

“Did he what?”

“Did he say something after I left on Sunday?”

He waits for a moment before answering.

“Not in words.” But he made it pretty clear what he was thinking in other ways. “So, eleven am tomorrow?”

“Yes please.”

The next day dawns sunny but windy. He ends up being there earlier than he has to be, embarrassingly nervous, as well as feeling completely out of place on the neat, broad sidewalk, in these clothes. He feels like he’s the lookout for a bank robbery and maybe he’s not completely off about that. He glances at his watch and notices firstly that they’re about to be late, and secondly that his black, broad strap and sporty hourplate is completely wrong for the rest of his ensemble and starts debating with himself about which would constitute the biggest faux pas; its presence or absence. 

There are quick footsteps approaching on the sidewalk and he sees Rory, Lorelai and Luke coming. Lorelai is fronting the group with her beau closely behind, she smiles quickly at him and gestures at him to follow as she passes, but he still waits until Rory reaches him. He offers his arm. She smiles at him, properly, and then proceeds to almost push him in front of her into the Club. Lorelai repeatedly whispers a plea that her parents won’t be there yet, which Rory firmly shoots down. Luke complains about his pants being wrinkly which somehow escalates into a discussion on how appropriate Hemingway really is as a role model. Jess finds himself wishing he could watch this from the outside. 

He tightens his arm around Rory’s and slows his steps until they fall behind. 

“I don’t know about this.” He starts without knowing where he’s going.

She stops completely and faces him, pale at once.

“You’re crazy if you think this is an acceptable time to pull out of this arrangement.”

“I’m not pulling out, I’m just questioning-”

“Could we please not do this now?” Her blue eyes are wide.

“You’re proposing we discuss how I attend this function after I’ve attended it?”

“Jess!” Her sharp whisper echoes between the marble walls. “This is cold feet talking, I’ve seen it a thousand times, every Friday night to be honest. You just gotta soldier through it.”

“And I will. I just-” He holds up his wrist. “What do I do about this?” 

The irritation visibly runs off her as she focuses her eyes on his watch.

“Does it stay or go?” He asks, desperation audible.

She looks at his face, then back at his wrist and smiles.

“You thought a watch was a dealbreaker?” She tilts her head. “Let’s take a look at you.”

He swallows but slides out of his coat hanging it over one of his arms while he spreads them showing his outfit to her. Her eyes run him up and down, and he would enjoy it if he wasn’t so out of his element. 

“You look nice.” She says.

He smiles, and feels a tad better despite the nausea.

“I borrowed the jacket and coat off Chris, and I bought the shirt and pants, and got the shoes from goodwill.”

“Jess!” She says, reaching into her purse. “You shouldn’t have bought- You have to let me pay!”

He lowers his arms again and grabs her wrist.

“No way!”

“Split the bill then, at least.” She actually starts rifling through her purse.

“Apparently every man should own these garments, at least that’s what they told me in the store, and their motives might be corrupt, but I did not go for the pricey stuff, trust me.” He takes a needed breath. “I should thank you, you got me to cross it off my list, but Rory-”

She tears her eyes from her purse and looks back into his, and he raises his wrist again.

“Help me!”

She chuckles softly and closes her hands around his wrist, pulling his sleeve down over the watch. His weakness spreads from his midriff to his knees.

“Let it stay.”

“I just-” he starts, “-this place-”

She forcibly lowers his hand again.

“I get it.” She says.

“I’ll be all stiff upper lip from now on.” He promises.

“We’ll need it.” She smiles grimly.

“Rory!” Lorelai’s cheerful voice cuts through the room, with a detectable hint of panic in it.

Rory hooks her arm around his and pulls him into motion. They round the corner and come face to face with an older couple, as well as Luke and Lorelai.

“Why, Rory, there you are!” Says the woman who must be Emily. “Lorelai said you had a slight emergency-”

“Funny,” Rory says, leaning in to peck first her grandmother’s and then her grandfather’s cheek, amazingly glaring at Lorelai at the same time, ”so did she.”

“Well, you’re here now.” The woman establishes with a tone that Jess can’t make out. “And so is…” She moves her gaze to him and his insides freeze up.

“Oh.” Rory takes a slight step back and gestures at him. “This is Jess Mariano, Luke’s nephew and my escort. Jess, these are my grandparents, Richard and Emily Gilmore.”

He leans in to shake Richard’s hand and remembers too late that he’s supposed to wait for the older man’s initiation, he’s lucky however and Richard meets him halfway. Emily doesn’t extend her hand so he nods at her instead, mumbling her title and last name, offering best wishes, having paid close attention to Luke’s humiliated rants over the phone this morning.

“Rory tells me you’re in retail.” Now he identifies that tone of hers in that last word, and stops himself from shuddering.

“I work at a bookstore in town, maybe you know it; Bookends, by Trinity.”

“I’m afraid I don’t.” She’s not really afraid of anything, that much is clear.

“I don’t think it’s your type of place, grandma.” Rory says, bless that she is. “It’s a bit funkier than Barnes and Noble.”

“Funkier?”

“I believe a synonym for cooler, Emily.” Richard offers.

“Oh. I didn’t realise shopkeeping was attractive enough to come attached with multiple hyperboles.” She smiles, like it’s a joke.

“I guess it depends on where you start out, my mother could never hold down a job.” Jess says.

The words are out of his mouth before he has a chance to stop them, and he’s stunned by them; He never defends himself like that, or offers any information as personal as that, especially not in a hostile environment. Emily squints at him.

“Your mother. That would be Luke’s-”

“Hey, aren’t we in a hurry?” Lorelai takes a few steps in her spot.

Emily finally looks away. 

“I suppose we’ve wasted enough time. Let’s go to the bridal room.” She turns and waves at Lorelai and Rory to follow.

“I’ll see you in a little while, I’ll be the handsome one holding the ring.” Richard says.

“My favorite kind of man.” Emily purrs, maybe Rory was right about them being too busy with each other to cause any real trouble today.

Emily starts climbing the stairs but Richard gestures at Lorelai to stay behind. Jess sees his chance and takes a few big steps grasping Rory’s arm pretending to hand her something.

“Rory, I’m-” He starts, voice low, but she interrupts.

“You were great.”

She clearly means it, and he looks at her in wonder. She smiles at him and he loses his train of thought, then she turns, hurrying after her grandmother. 

He remains in his spot until they’re out of sight. Then he focuses his eyes on the intricate banister, the marble staircase, this absurd place in the town he lives in, but a parallel universe as far as he’s concerned. He heads back down. Luke has already taken a seat in a leather couch next to the staircase. The walls are lined with books and Jess naturally winds up reading the backs. 

Luke clears his throat and Jess turns to him. His uncle has one eyebrow raised like he’s already said something striking and is waiting for a response.

“What?” Jess offers, against his better judgement.

“Can’t believe you’re doing this.”

Jess puts back the book he’s holding.

“Told you I would. Stay out of it, you’ll be happier.”

“Yeah, well, you try to stay out of anything involving the Gilmores.”

Jess leans on the shelf behind him.

“I guess I’ll learn all about it now.”

“Is that why you’re here?” Luke squints at him. “You need to know? You could’ve just taken my word for it.”

“I’m more of a learn by doing kinda guy.”

“Learn by pretending you mean.”

They glare at each other for a moment.

“Well, I’m in good company then.” Jess says. “Here we both are, dressed up like something we’re not.”

“I believe my excuse is better than yours. What was it again anyway?” Luke taunts.

”I hope you’ll forgive me if I don’t take your advice on how to handle my personal relationships.” The words come out much more caustic than Jess anticipated.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that it’s taken you an absurd amount of time to get here, considering the opportunities you’ve had.”

Luke glares at him, but he isn’t done.

“Remember when I got back from New York?”

Luke frowns, Jess goes on.

“You told me to stay out of her way, to give her space, and like an idiot I listened. Then she comes into the diner getting take-away on her way to the airport because, surprise, she’s spending the entire summer in Washington, this’ll be the last time we see each other for weeks and she’s looking at me like I’m a stranger.” How does that still sting? “You know what she asked me? ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were back?’ Like I should’ve, like that was the first thing I should've done, like I would’ve done, but I listened to you. She came to New York just to see me, and I listened to you.” 

He tries turning back to the books but Luke stops him.

“Let me remind you that your own judgement hadn’t really worked out in your favor before, or after for that matter-”

“But it would’ve been my mistake, okay? Mine.” Jess gestures to enhance his words. “And seriously, what is your deal with restraint? When has restraint ever gotten you anything you want? Did restraint land you Lorelai?”

Luke tilts his head and speaks, tone somewhat softer.

“Is that what this is about, you landing Rory?”

Jess sighs slowly, deliberately, to not lose his temper completely.

“She’s my friend, she asked me, I owe her.”

“For what? Being your study-buddy?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

Jess is quiet. It’s too much to even try to put it into words.

“Listen, I know Rory has a talent for seeing the best in people-” Luke starts.

“And how many have seen the best in me you think?” Ah, but there it is.

It’s Luke’s turn to be quiet.

“If I thought a lifetime supply of coffee or installing all the DVD-players she’ll ever need would pay her back I wouldn’t be here, but maybe I owe her more than that.”

Luke sighs, all signs of aggression gone by now.

“Jess,” he says, ”some things you can’t repay, some things you shouldn’t even try to repay, kindness is something you should just try to accept. And this is not a favor.” He gestures in pace with his words. “This is a game, but you’re playing with your feelings-”

“Your objection is noted. Can we let it go now?”

Luke looks at him for a beat, then holds up his hands.

“Fine, I give up.”

“Good.”

Jess finally finds a book that might be tolerable and sits down to read. Luke stubbornly stares ahead. More and more people fall into the foyer and eventually they’re forced to hang their coats and stand awkwardly, waiting with the rest. 

There’s a chime from the Rose room as the ceremony is about to start and they get up, walk in and take their seats. After a few minutes the judge, Richard Gilmore and Rory enter. They walk up to the altar and take their places. 

He wasn’t sure what to expect when she told him she was going to be her grandfather’s best man but it all falls into place now, as much of it that could possibly fit inside him. He’s been into her since he first saw her; Much more than that actually, even if he tries not to think about it, it’s a very demanding feeling. And Luke is annoyingly right, just pretending to be with her has him working whole new sets of muscles, and between almost kissing her last week and this outfit... Rory’s eyes find him in the crowd. He closes his fist tightly to form a different sensation than the one taking over. And then he does that thing, she calls it his super power unaware of how often he has to use it around her, where he smiles crookedly, raises his eyebrows, and projects that amusement is the main thing he feels at the sight of her. She smiles back at him, openly, and he feels a bit stupid. 

Her eyes wander to the left and widen slightly, then she smiles and quickly raises her hand in greeting. Jess slowly turns his head to not attract attention to himself and follows her gaze to a young guy sitting next to a pretty girl, both blonde, well-dressed. When he looks at Rory again her eyes are back on him, and she shakes her head, it’s almost unnoticeable. The music starts playing. 

* * *

_Rory_

Just a minute into the service Christopher sneaks in, and there’s a pinch in her chest. She keeps her tight smile on while her father takes a seat, and manages to hold it together for the entire ceremony, does her duty, but can think of little else than to warn her mother. 

When the happy couple finally retires for picture taking, she makes a beeline toward Lorelai who stands at the other end of the room together with Luke and Jess. She can’t spot her father which means he could be anywhere. She picks up her pace, so focused on her goal she almost runs straight into Logan who may or may not have been aiming for her.

“Woah, Ace!”

She smiles and tries to temporarily let go of her panic.

“Logan, hi!” 

“Hope I didn’t spoil the event for you.”

“You didn’t, I was clueless.” She reassures, and glances at her mother who’s now spotted her and gestures at her to join them.

“You look very handsome.” Logan says.

“Thank you, so do you.”

He leans in.

“But no sneaking off and making out in the coat room tonight, a bit too weird for my taste.”

“Glad to know you have limits.” She quips. “A bit concerned that you bringing a date isn’t one of ’em.” She points at the blonde heading their way.

Logan’s smile broadens.

“That’s Jewel, she’s a friend of the family.” He says, like that explains everything.

He turns and intercepts the girl while Rory glances back to the spot where she last saw Lorelai, now finding it empty save her great aunt Totsie. She frowns and looks around the room, as quickly as she can before Jewel reaches for her hand. She smiles and takes it, more than a little distracted, as Logan introduces them.

“I like your suit.” Jewel says.

“And I like your dress.” Rory responds. 

She keeps a thought about it being perfect for a coat room make out session from turning into a comment. She has more than a few streaks of mean girl in her, but too much to deal with tonight without handling the consequences of her own back-handed remarks. Logan leans a bit closer.

“So, where’s your date? She the one in the floral ensemble?”

Rory forces a laugh.

“I was on my way to him but now-” 

She turns her head instinctively to look for her mother and the guys, but falls quiet when she spots Jess heading for them. She’s surprised at how relieved it makes her. He reaches them, and puts a hand in the small of her back.

“There you are.”

“Here I am.” She confirms and turns back to Logan and Jewel. “Logan, Jewel, this is Jess, Jess- Logan, Jewel.” 

Jess shakes hands with the both of them, keeping his left, the one with the watch, behind her back. 

“So, Jess,” Logan starts, “how do you two know each other?”

“Oh, we go way back-” Jess stops talking and turns to her. “But you tell it so much better.”

She refrains from glaring at him.

“We’ve known each other since high school.” She simply says and shrugs.

“Great story.” Jess says with a smile, and she almost pinches him. 

The emcee’s voice echoes from the speakers, announcing the return of Richard and Emily.

“I think that’s our cue to take our seats.” Rory says, and to Jewel: “Nice meeting you.” 

As they leave she gives into temptation, and reaches back and grasps the hand Jess holds at her back to keep the watch strap free from scrutiny, but it’s clear they haven’t practiced being tactile together because now all she can think of is how it feels to hold onto him. She chuckles nervously.

“Look at you, taking charge.” She mumbles.

“You seemed stressed out.” He responds.

“I was, thanks.”

He nods.

“I need to find my mom,” she says, “my father is here and-”

“They already found each other.”

“Oh.”

“I was standing a few feet over but I got the gist. Did you know about the Tequila thing?”

She blushes, and reluctantly nods. He chews on his lower lip.

“We should probably keep an extra eye on Luke.” He says after a few beats and she nods.

They arrive at the table, off in the corner. Luke and Lorelai are already there. 

“Thank god!” Lorelai exclaims before getting shushed by Luke. 

She reaches across the table and squeezes Rory’s arm, and Rory smiles reassuringly at her. She spots Christopher a table over and raises her hand in greeting, he mirrors it and sips on his whiskey. Her grandfather has the mic and presents the song. She smiles watching her grandparents, they are very difficult people, but they belong together, and it’s clear.

“At this time, if you’re in love, I invite you to join Emily and Richard on the dance floor.”

Rory exchanges a look with Jess before becoming distracted by her mother having to talk Luke into dancing with her, under normal circumstances it wouldn’t have worried her, but now… When he gives in and they finally leave to dance she spots Christopher glaring at the couple. Her tummy aches.

“Hey.”

She twitches at Jess’s voice.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I just-” She words slow as she watches Christopher get up and leave the Rose room. “-feel like I shouldn’t let him out of my sight.”

“Go if you gotta, I’ll stay and look after these two.” Jess nods at Lorelai and Luke.

“You sure?”

“You don’t have to maintain social etiquette with me, Ror. Isn’t that why I’m here?”

Isn’t it? She sighs, nods, gets up and heads after Christopher. He’s in the salon, along with the still life class the Gilmores couldn’t evict, gulping down his whiskey at a terrifying speed. 

“Need some company?” She offers.

“Sure, kid. Sit.”

She takes a seat beside him.

“Your grandparents sure know how to throw a party.”

“That they do.”

“I like your suit. Very dashing.”

She smiles a little tightly at the familiar joke.

“How are you holding up?” She asks.

“Did your mother ever tell you about our first kiss?” His speech isn’t exactly slurred, just… spilling, dripping.

“Dad.” She says, quietly, to be as gentle as she can be. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t go there.”

“Why not?” 

She can’t make out his tone, is it anger, regret, or just petulance? 

“What good does it do to wallow in it?” She listens to herself, she was aiming for pragmatism, not melancholy, but there’s an ache in the words, her own.

“How is it wallowing when it was the best day of my life?”

“Because that story’s over now,” she pushes an edge into her voice, “what’s the good in going through it over and over?”

“Maybe I’m hoping it’ll come out differently somehow.” Christopher mumbles.

She takes a breath, and pushes away everything that resonates in her at his words.

“This is why I asked you to leave her be.” She starts slowly. “Because I knew you couldn’t handle being around her without messing with her.”

“I’m in here, aren’t I?” Christopher frowns gesturing at the room. “Staying out of her way.”

“I’m wondering what you’re doing here to begin with.”

“Emily invited me.”

“And why did she do that, you think?”

“My family and the Gilmores go way back.”

Definitely petulance. She sighs, this is going nowhere. 

“Who’s the guy you’re with?” He asks.

“My friend Jess.”

“Quite a friend to join you here.” Christopher smiles. “He’s a brave man.”

“Maybe it runs in the family, he’s Luke’s nephew.” 

Christopher raises his eyebrows, then finishes his drink.

“I’m gonna get a refill, you want anything?”

“No. But dad, just- Mind your step.”

“Sure thing, kid.”

He leaves. She remains sitting for another few moments, before letting it go. She has to, she has her own set of problems to deal with tonight. She walks back to her table and finds Jess still sitting there as promised, watching her mom and Luke.

“How’re they doing?”

He chuckles. 

“A bit spazzy. How did it go with your dad?”

She shakes her head dismissively and empties her glass of champagne, still standing by her place setting. He looks at her.

“You seem about done.” He remarks. 

She wipes some wet from the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand, in a very unladylike manner.

“Just getting started,” she says.

Jess tilts his head. Moon River starts playing.

“You wanna dance?” She asks.

“God no,” he immediately answers. “But I will if it’s part of the deal.”

She smiles.

“We probably should. It’s easier than making out in public-”

He snorts from laughter.

“That’s debatable.”

“-And we can keep a closer eye on them.” She gestures at Lorelai and Luke.

He gets up and offers his hand.

“Just as long as it’s clear that I can’t dance, just sway rhythmically on the same spot.”

“Noted. Follow my lead, I’ll spruce it up a little.”

He smiles and walks out onto the dancefloor near the place where Luke and Lorelai are dancing. She turns opposite him and erases the space between them in a close stance, it’ll make it easier to lead without it showing, but it feels strange holding onto him like that. She stares at the collar of his shirt trying to get used to it, overwhelmingly aware of their physical contact, the scent of him, his soap, his hair product, and plain him amplified. She tries not to think about last Sunday or his mouth this close to hers since it makes her head spin. She feels a little gust of air and a twitch in his body and looks up at his face, right next to hers. He smirks.

“Weird?” She asks.

“A little.” He admits.

She nods, and looks back at his collar while they start moving. They sway together, there’s nothing wrong with his sense of rhythm, so it’s easy to steer him. His arm is around her waist and his other hand closed around hers, held to his chest for control. They should have practised, dancing, touching, and speaking simultaneously, now she’s afraid to talk, that her voice will be full of… whatever this is. She shivers, despite him being warm. He takes an audible breath, his voice a hum in the back of the whispering sound.

“So,” he clears his throat, “is it normal for the wedding party to be placed so far off in the reception room?”

She smiles, relieved at the feeling.

“No, but grandma showed up at our house last night demanding a bachelorette party, so we had to call in all our friends and favors to get the show on the road and it turned out alright, but anyway, long story short, mom got her hands on the seating chart and got a little creative.”

“Huh.” He says looking around. “I would‘ve expected more chaos.”

“And you’d be right to, but don’t forget that I was also present.”

“Ah.”

“Yes, and I convinced her that just placing the seating upside down would be sufficient to keep us out of the line of fire.”

“Well, if this scenario is your idea of ‘out of the line of fire’-” he smiles wickedly, “it seems to have worked so far.”

“Shush!” She laughs exasperated. “And don’t jinx it, man, no need to make it worse.”

He chuckles.

“I think it might be too late anyway. When you were gone your mother’s cousin Marilyn stopped by to verify my entire family history.”

“Yikes.” She mumbles, more than a little embarrassed.

“I’m guessing she got it from you?”

“In collaboration with my mother and grandmother and whatever rumours are floating around, probably.”

“I didn’t know what was what so I just agreed with everything. Apparently I’m a sales technician. And she congratulated me on my excellent english.”

“I am so sorry.” She leans her forehead on his shoulder. “I shouldn’t have left you alone.”

“By the way; Jimmy is fourth generation.”

“Dammit.” She mumbles and lifts her head again. “You are a good guy, Jess Mariano.”

He smiles.

“It’s okay, by the smell of her breath I’m guessing she’ll remember exactly none of it tomorrow, also, she seemed kinda preoccupied.” He nods in the direction of another table where Marilyn is leaning over Logan and Jewel who listen to her with blank stares and frozen smiles.

Rory laughs.

“You didn’t cut it, huh?”

“I’m okay with it.” He clears his throat. “So, that was Skip?” 

This time she does pinch him.

“Ow!” His entire body jerks and hers with it, but it feels nice, more relaxed afterwards.

“The very same.” She confirms.

“Huh.”

“So, what did you think?” She asks without being sure she actually wants to know.

He shrugs.

“That back there was hardly enough for me to base an assessment on, I’ll just have to take you on your word that he’s worth all this trouble.”

“Trouble?”

He frees a finger and points at her, then himself.

“This has nothing to do with him,” she objects, “it’s not for his benefit.”

“Maybe not. But we wouldn’t be doing this if it weren’t for him and his weird relationship restrictions.”

She bites her lip.

“Don’t worry about it.” He says. “In for a dime and a dollar and all that, just…” he takes another deep breath, “an observation.” 

He puts his face next to hers and her heart picks up its pace. She looks over at Logan who glances in her direction and raises an eyebrow together with the corner of his mouth.

“By the way you look-” Jess starts.

“Handsome, dashing, gallant, thanks,“ she sighs.

“I was going with beautiful, but-” He falls quiet when she pulls her head back to look at him. “What?”

She has to chuckle to get her voice working again.

“You just, never said anything like that to me before.”

He looks away.

“Better late than never.” He mumbles.

She feels feverish, then goes cold in an instant when she spots Emily staring at them from across the room.

“Shoot.” She whispers.

“What?”

“My grandma.” She nods discreetly in Emily’s direction.

He raises his eyebrows, then his hand tightens around hers as he lifts it to his mouth and puts his lips to her fingers. It’s fake, it’s for show, but she catches a gasp in her throat. His face is so close, eyes searching hers. She smiles, can’t really help it. 

Then the impulse has her, and is strong enough to steer her when she leans into him and puts her lips to his. She aims for breezy, flirty, but it winds up softer, slower, and there’s a tremble between them, she can’t really tell from whom, maybe it’s a joint effort. He lets go of her hand and cups her jaw instead, holding her face to his, like he wants it there. 

She vaguely registers that they’ve stopped swaying, and her voice twists and turns in her throat. They know each other. They’ve been friends for years. How many times has she imagined this moment? Too many. How much has she wished for it? Too much. 

That’s the reason she hesitated last Sunday, and why she should have now. Stop, her head shouts into the void while her hands tighten around the fabric of his jacket. But her lips move against his, as far as they’re concerned this is the real deal, and he takes a sharp breath through his nose. She remembers something about tongue being unacceptable but can’t for the life of her say why now. 

Then he makes a muffled sound that vibrates against her lips, and puts his other hand to her face, turning his head to break the kiss. She gasps softly. 

“Nice spruce.” He mumbles, smiling.

She giggles, euphoric. He holds onto her face, leans his forehead against hers.

“That oughta do it.” She whispers.

He looks at her, and she thinks that she’s never known anyone this way. 

“Thank you.” She croaks.

His eyes gleam.

“Any time.”

Her smile broadens, and that’s when she spots them: Lorelai, Luke and her father at the same table, the first two with arms crossed and third gesturing too vividly. 

“Double-shoot!”

He turns to see, and his hands fall from her. She lets go of him too and heads for the table. 

“Dad, what are you doing here?” She says before she’s even had a chance to stop.

Her father gets on his feet in a careless motion that makes it pretty obvious his balance is off. He smiles however, like always.

“I switched seats with cousin It.” He jokes, before looking at Jess, who’s followed her closely. “Hey, aren’t you gonna introduce us?

She forces a smile.

“Sure: Dad, this is Jess, Jess, this is my father Christopher.”

Christopher tosses out his hand and grabs Jess’s, and Rory winces at jagged motion. Jess leaves it be for an extra moment before he carefully pulls back his hand. Her father looks at her with red-rimmed eyes.

“I thought you said he was a friend.”

“He is.” She automatically responds, puzzled.

“You looked pretty cozy out there.”

“Dad, I told you-”

Christopher interrupts her.

“I thought for sure your mom would’ve taught you that making out in public is a big no-no-”

“We didn’t-” She tries.

“She should’ve told you that all that stuff is better handled in some back room, with a flask,” Christopher turns to Lorelai, “ain’t that right, Lor?”

Rory drops the attempt to defend herself in an instant; This isn’t even about her, of course. But the relief lasts only as long as lightning, then she looks at her mother, who’s pale from anger.

“Time to go, Chris.” Lorelai growls, hooks her arm around Christopher’s and starts leading him off, Luke tentatively follows while Rory scans the room for damage control, but no one seems to have noticed the disaster that’s just occurred. She exchanges a quick glance with Jess before following her mother toward the exit.

Lorelai and Christopher with Luke in tow have barely made it out of the Rose room when Rory and Jess catch up with them. Christopher is still rambling.

“-Like it or not Lor, she’s a friggin’ debutante, the rules must be broken in very specific ways, and you should’ve prepared her for that and that includes properly chosen escorts, she can’t just grab whoever’s available, I mean, your mom’s boyfriend’s nephew, that’s like taking your cousin to prom, and of course you can’t expect guys like these to know what’s what-”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Rory twitches at Luke’s words, the tone of them. They’re well warranted, but unfortunately him choosing this moment to enter the game won’t help matters. And Lorelai knows it too.

“Luke-” She starts, but Christopher interrupts her, he has obviously been waiting for this moment.

“I guess I mean that a guy like you can’t be expected to know what belongs where, and with whom.” He throws at Luke. “But I know it, Lorelai knows it, and Emily knows it too, that’s why she wanted me here in the first place!”

Rory has never seen Luke so mad, she instinctively reaches for Jess, but he has already taken a step to be able to hold Luke back. Luke blinks when he becomes aware that Jess is by his side.

“I’ve got to get out of here.” He says thickly.

“It might be for the best,” Christopher says, and Rory honestly can’t figure out if he knows how close he is to a beatdown or if he’s oblivious, both seem like credible options right now. “These things aren’t settled through fisticuffs.”

Jess's hand closes around Luke’s arm.

“Hi there!”

Logan’s voice. Rory turns and finds him in the doorway to the Rose room. He has his hands in his pockets while sauntering up to them, then pulls his right one out to reach for Christopher’s.

“I don’t believe we’ve met. Logan Huntzberger.” He smiles in his usual unaffected way, and there’s a feeling in her tummy of falling, what is he up to?

Christopher stares cack-handed at Logan who simply grabs his hand and shakes it.

“Christopher Hayden, right?” Logan establishes. “I’m here to fetch these lovely ladies, the bride requires them for a photo op.”

Rory looks at Lorelai who seems frozen in place.

“Mom-” She says but has trouble getting sound into her voice.

“You should go.” Comes Jess’s voice and both Rory and Lorelai look at him.

He has a hand on Luke’s shoulder now and has managed to turn his uncle slightly from the epicenter of the argument. He seems cool, collected and a bit closed off- was that thing on the dancefloor really just minutes ago?

“I got my car.” He gestures over his shoulder. “I’ll drive us back to Stars Hollow.” 

Rory nods, and is about to say something apologetic even if it already feels too little, when Logan grabs her attention by speaking again.

“And me and Christopher will go get some coffee.” He says, his hand still firmly around Christopher’s and the other on his shoulder. “But you two should hustle now, don’t wanna keep the lady of the hour waiting.” He smiles again.

“Thank you, Logan.” Rory breathes, she glances back to Jess and Luke but they’re already heading for the exit. “Come on mom.” She says and reaches for Lorelai.

Lorelai blinks at her touch and sets off toward the Rose room without a word. Rory means to follow but instead finds herself turning to Christopher, who finally seems to reattach himself to reality when he has no one to spit venom at anymore.

“I told you.” She hisses. “I asked you to stay away from her, and from now on I want you to stay away from me too!”

His face changes in an instant, and it hurts so bad to see, but she’s too angry, it doesn’t drown that out this time. She hurries after her mother who’s marching in the direction of Emily and Richard. She reaches her in time by running the last few steps.

“Mom!” She grabs Lorelai’s arm. “Wait!”

“What?” Lorelai turns, so angry that she’s almost not there, she gestures at Emily. “Did you hear him? She did this!”

“She set the board,” Rory admits, “but he did this: dad.”

Lorelai shakes her head.

“Mom, please don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Her mother growls.

“Ten seconds, that’s all I’m asking, then we’re out of here, you and me.”

Lorelai just glares at her.

“They’re on their honeymoon starting tomorrow, and after they get back I can be your messenger, just-” She takes a breath. “It’s her wedding day.”

For a second Lorelai looks like she’s about to cry, then she bites her lip and nods. Rory actually counts to ten in front of the camera and then hurries off with her mother despite the protests from the photographer.

They drive back to Stars Hollow in silence. Rory finds a text from Jess: ‘Staying at the diner tonight, but I made him promise to go see Lorelai tomorrow. Talk to you later.’ 

She tries to respond but is too tired to think of anything that would possibly cut it. Instead she follows Lorelai inside and up the stairs. They lie in bed watching TV, Lorelai’s lets out the occasional sniffle and Rory pets her hair. She falls asleep there, beside her mother.


	5. Shane Stay Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously on Gilmore Girls: How about that renewal! Pretty low society if you ask me. That Emily sure is a snob and a half, and Christopher is definitely a chaotic drunk. But Logan turned out to be pretty suave, no? Not that I’m surprised, that is his main personality trait, and it sure came in handy. But oh my god! Rory and Jess kissed! Who’s excited? Well, probably not Rory at this particular moment in time. Poor thing. Poor Lorelai. Poor Luke. Poor Jess. Let’s see how they’re holding up.

_Rory_

Her phone wakes her up, she reaches for it and is about to mute it when she notices that Lorelai’s side of the bed is empty. She pushes the call through and mumbles a greeting.

“Ace! What are you still doing in bed?” 

Rory glances at the watch, it’s only nine o’clock.

“What are you doing up?” She counters.

Logan laughs.

“Nothing like a little drama to perk you up.”

A little drama? She knows he’s trying to be kind, downsizing the whole thing, but it just makes her want to cry.

“What’s up?” She manages.

“I just thought I’d give you the four-one-one.”

“Is he alive?” She asks curtly.

There’s a slight pause.

“I put him in a cab.” He says. 

So, alive. That’s all she feels like knowing about her father right now.

“Well, thanks for helping out.” She says, aiming to finish the conversation.

“Just doing my guestly duty.”

“I think it was a little more than that.”

“Well, it was Emily’s wedding day after all.”

She winces. Is that how she sounded last night? Emily’s wedding day versus Lorelai’s life.

“Are you okay?”

She stifles a sigh, and winds up yawning instead.

“Peachy.” She says. “Unfortunately I have a bunch of fallout from that little drama last night to deal with, so I’ll have to talk to you tomorrow.”

“Ace-” Now he catches on, but too late.

“Thanks for your contribution.”

She hangs up and turns her phone off even if she knows she’s being unfair. She gets out of bed and finds a robe before heading downstairs. The shower is running and she’s just about to go put on some coffee when there’s a knock on the front door. She recognises the silhouette of Luke through the glass and opens, breathless.

He shifts his weight between his feet, looks like he hasn’t slept a bit.

“Rory.”

She just steps aside and lets him in. He stops in the hallway and she gestures at the bathroom.

“She’s in the shower,” she says, redundantly, and there’s a pause. “I’m gonna-” she starts without finishing the sentence. 

She abruptly turns and hurries into her room rifling through her remaining wardrobe picking out jeans and a sweatshirt, changing into it as quickly as possible, and is still jumping into her socks and shoes when she makes her way back to the hallway. By then Luke has taken another few steps in. 

“I’m gonna let you have the place to yourselves.” She says, stepping into her last shoe without tying the laces. “‘Cause, you should probably talk, and talking is best done in the privacy of your-” She halts and grabs her coat off the hallstand. 

“Jess is at the diner,” Luke offers.

“Oh, good,” Rory goes on, “ I guess I’ll just go there, then and- ‘Cause I haven’t eaten yet, and he makes almost as good a pancakes as you-”

“Okay.” Luke just says.

They stare at each other for a few seconds and she has no idea what she looks like and doesn’t really want to know. He smiles at her, a small, tight smile that in itself brings little comfort, but he obviously forces it for her and that makes her feel a bit better. 

There’s a shuffle behind her and she turns to find Lorelai wrapped in a miniscule, pink bathrobe with blue fish on it that probably has her rethinking her entire life right about now. Luke and Lorelai look at each other silently and Rory all but crouches over sneaking out of there. 

She ties her shoelaces on the porch and walks toward the diner. Clouds have blown in and it snows a little, it’s the kind of day Lorelai would have loved under normal circumstances. Rory feels foggy, hungover, despite not being it and it isn’t until she’s standing outside of Luke’s facing her reflection in the window that she remembers she still doesn’t know what to say. Here she thought her biggest problem was her life bearing too close a resemblance to Dynasty, but all it took was a couple of drinks too many in the wrong person for it to turn into The Jerry Springer Show. She stares at herself: Her hairdo is still mainly up, but a significant amount of locks have escaped and fall wildly over her face and coat collar. There’s mascara under her eyes and she does her best to rub it off. 

“Are you coming in or what?”

She looks over and finds Jess holding the door open with an impatient frown on his face. She hurries and enters the diner. There are guests scattered throughout the room and she walks up to the counter and takes a seat by the register. Jess pours her coffee without a word before grabbing plates left next to her and almost chucking them into the kitchen.

“Busy?” She asks.

He exhales through his nose. 

“Look, I just-” He interrupts himself. “What are you having?”

She looks at him, trying to read his mind and mood.

“What?” He says, a bit softer.

“Pancakes, if-”

He taps the counter with his fingers.

“If what?”

“If you make them.”

He smiles, and she takes what seems to be her first breath that day.

“It has to be me, Caesar’s running late. Just, stall, any new customers.”

“I’ll tackle them,” she promises.

He disappears into the kitchen, and she moves a seat closer to be able to see his back.

“You just what?” She asks. “Why are you stressed out?”

“I got a shift at the store this afternoon, and it’s gonna be tight.” Comes his voice in response.

“I could call Lane?” She offers, when there’s no answer she picks up her phone. “I’m calling Lane.” She does, and Lane agrees to come in before lunch, no questions asked.

A few minutes later Jess places her plate in front of her. She’s a few bites into her meal when she feels like crying again, but keeps chewing and swallowing it down. He stays by the counter while she eats, reading his book. Caesar shows and gets on kitchen duty. Rory swallows her last bite.

“Jess, I’m so sorry.” She mumbles, staring at her empty plate.

There’s a shuffle as he moves over to her, closes his book, and places it on the counter. He leans in, and she keeps her gaze fixed on his hands, the veins on the back of them, his cuticles, that’s all she can handle.

“It’s not your fault.” He says, firmly. 

“I should’ve known, I shouldn’t have put you in the middle of all that.”

“Ror, you’re not responsible for your parents’ actions. Especially not when they’re drunk. I know all about it.” He leans closer, so she can feel the breath of his words. “Don’t worry about me, it’s all pretend, right?”

“Right.” She can barely get the word out.

“And for what it’s worth, I feel a lot better about my own family now.”

She laughs and it takes her by surprise. She looks up at him, and straightens in her seat. 

“I won’t let it happen again, this thing- it is over, and I won’t-”

“Woah, hey!” He holds his arms out. “I sincerely hope you’re not backing out now! Not before holding up your end of the bargain.”

She raises her eyebrows.

“You wanna keep going?”

He smiles, shrugs.

“I need a favor.” 

The bell chimes as new people arrive and Rory follows him with her eyes as he goes to help them out, a perplexed smile on her lips. Lane arrives an hour later and Jess packs up his stuff. Rory walks him to the door.

“Call me if something goes wrong with the two of them.” He nods vaguely in the direction of her house.

“See you tomorrow?” She says.

“Yeah.”

With that he leans in, brushing his face to hers, like a cat, pecking her cheek. She remembers the kiss from yesterday so vividly that she almost turns her mouth to his, and he freezes, then pulls back slowly, face wrinkled from embarrassment.

“Sorry.” He says. ”I don’t know what-”

She chuckles.

“That’s okay.” She pecks his cheek too, to mark her words. “Hazards of the trade.”

He sighs, nods, and leaves. His car is parked across the street and she watches him get into it and drive off.

“What the heck was that?” Lane hoots, making every customer jump in their seat.

Rory hurries back to the counter, aggressively shushing her friend.

“And what are you doing here, in those clothes and that hair- it’s adorable by the way- but the makeup-” Lane gasps. “Is this a walk of shame?” She sticks her face close to Rory’s with her next words. “Are you sleeping with Jess?”

Rory blushes so violently that her ears start ringing.

“No!” She hisses.

Lane almost looks disappointed.

“Oh.” 

“I could explain if you care to listen?”

Lane ties an apron around her waist, placing herself behind the counter mimicking a bartender, pouring coffee into Rory’s mug with a slick motion. Rory walks back to her stool and sits. 

“Tell me all about it, doll.” Lane says, doing her best to sound world weary.

Rory opens her mouth and realises how absurd this whole situation is, but takes a breath and tells her friend anyway. When she’s finished Lane gapes at her.

“I can’t believe your life!” She finally manages. 

“Neither can I.” Rory mumbles, likely considering other aspects of it than Lane.

“All I do is work and rehearse, while you have space and time for a whole romcom sub plot!”

Rory glares at her.

“Sorry.” Lane mumbles.

“And you’re the one with the main plot anyway.” Rory says, making an actual attempt to change the subject. “It’s been a few weeks since the party at Mrs Kim’s.”

“What about it?” Lane doesn’t seem to wanna take the bait.

“Zach did well.”

“Yes, he did.” Lane admits, but still taps her fingers on the counter.

“And how are we feeling about that?”

“Surprisingly, pretty good. I assumed I would immediately start resenting him after he bonded with Mrs Kim, but it's been good. See? No drama. So much for your main plot.”

Rory ignores the last comment and shakes her head instead.

“God, who knew your mother could be reasonable? Mrs Kim - more tolerant of your boyfriends than Emily Gilmore.”

“Since 1955.” Lane smiles. “And now that we have that subject wrapped up: I take it this fake dating thing is working out as you might expect?”

Rory sighs, and folds.

“Actually if you don’t count the final ten minutes of last night, the whole thing went okay. Good actually, Jess stood up to my grandparents and was snarky enough to not invite any mocking from Logan.”

Lane leans on the counter.

“Logan was there? What does he say about this?”

Rory shrugs.

“Nothing. There's nothing he can say.”

Lane tilts her head.

“Why did you ask Jess to do this?” 

“I told you.” Rory responds, slight irritation in her voice.

“Once and barely.” Lane scoffs. “I thought you were over him.”

Rory’s heartbeat picks up.

“I wasn’t even- there wasn’t- there’s nothing to even be over.”

“I don’t get why you’re still fighting this so hard.” Lane gestures. “You’re allowed to have crushes-”

“It’s not- it wasn’t a crush!” Rory’s cheeks are hot.

“See? Why do you do that?” Lane goes. “You can like a person even if you’re dating someone else, and you’re not even with Dean anymore-” 

”I don’t wanna talk about Dean.” Rory interrupts, she barely has the insulation to speak his name today. “It would be nice if you listened to me-”

“I have listened to you.” Lane protests. “For three years, can you imagine the dissonance? You ditched school, and went to New York to see him, had weekly and exclusive study-dates with him that drove your boyfriend and his girlfriend crazy, and still I took your word for it. But now this! What is this?”

“We’re friends.”

“Right, so why didn’t you ask me to escort you?” Lane gestures. “You dating a woman might not stop your grandma but it would definitely slow her down.”

There’s a slight pause when Rory comes up with an excuse.

“She knows you.” She finally goes with.

“Right, I’m your asian friend.” Lane shakes her head. “So, this won’t make things weird between you and Jess?”

Rory summons the last of her theatrics to sound chipper.

“Not at all.”

Lane squints and points to the entrance.

“What was that thing over by the door then?”

Touché, but then again- Rory shakes her head.

“Nothing weird.”

“No?”

“Just a nice side effect.” She’s not lying about that, and smiles at the insight.

Lane chuckles helplessly.

“Guess I can’t argue with that.”

The door chimes when two new customers enter and Lane gets busy. Rory still stays, runs by the bookshop and picks up a novel she’s been meaning to get, and then sits at Luke’s reading. She has lunch and starts glancing at her watch. Lorelai and Luke have to be done by now, right? She stays another hour to be sure, then heads back to the house. 

She opens the door carefully, and steps inside. There are low voices from upstairs, they’re still talking. She’s not sure what to make of that, and stays frozen by the foot of the stairs, considering her options; her room, back to Luke’s or back to Yale, but then there’s a sharp shuffle and she hurries into the kitchen. Luke’s jacket is hanging over a chair and, sure enough, he comes for it moments later, walking while buttoning his shirt, but stopping in his tracks when he sees her by the kitchen counter.

“Rory- I didn’t know- sorry-”

“I just got in.” She says and he goes quiet, nodding.

She looks him over trying to not stare; his top buttons are open in his flannel shirt, his cap is off, he looks tired.

“You got to talk?” She asks, and he nods.

“I should be getting back now, relieve Jess-”

“Lane already did that.” Rory says. “I could-” She gestures with a thumb over her shoulder. “If you-”

Luke shakes his head.

“Nah, I better go. Plenty of time later for me and your mom to… talk.”

“Okay.” She forces a smile, while a small panicky feeling still gnaws at her.

He grabs his jacket and exits through the kitchen door. Rory heads upstairs and finds Lorelai in bed, rosy from something other than just tears.

“What are you still doing here?” Her mother asks. “You should be getting back to Yale.”

“It’s Saturday, and I’m thinking of staying until tomorrow.”

“I’m fine, Rory!”

“Well, I’m not only staying for you, Jess is working Sundays, remember?”

Lorelai sits up a bit straighter among her pillows and gives Rory a little quizzical look.

“Right. Strategizing, are we?”

“Something like that.”

“The two of you are adorable.” Lorelai tries, baiting her, Rory ignores it.

“Yeah, so you can just forget about me staying around to coddle you, that would just be a bonus.”

“Uh-huh.”

“We could watch a movie, or three, tonight. Unless you got a hot date?”

Lorelai’s expression darkens slightly.

“No hot date. Movie night it is.”

“I’ll let you get dressed.”

Rory walks downstairs, and calls Logan. She gets his machine, it’s usually how it is this time on weekends. He updates his voicemail greeting weekly, announcing the plans he’s aware of having and leaving instructions for Colin or Finn, more often the latter, who would be lost without him. She listens patiently, waiting for the beep.

“Hi Logan, it’s Rory. Listen, I wanted to thank you properly for helping out yesterday. And sorry for being so curt with you this morning, it was uncalled for. I blame it on these last twenty four hours having gone on for a very long time. Talk to you later. Bye.”

Lorelai gets herself together, comes downstairs and sends Rory out to get food from Al’s Pancake-world. They’re halfway through the second movie before Rory feels comfortable enough asking:

“So, how are things with the two of you?”

“You shouldn’t worry about it.” Lorelai mumbles.

“Mom.”

“We’re okay for now, but-” Lorelai takes a deep breath, “-we have a problem.”

There’s a pause.

“That sucks.” Rory finally goes.

“We don’t like problems.” Lorelai adds.

“We avoid them when we can.” Rory contributes.

“But now we can’t.” With that Lorelai grabs another red vine and stops talking.

Waking up in Stars Hollow means Rory gets to the diner decidedly early on Sunday. She walks in and finds Jess sitting at the counter. He turns at the bell and raises his eyebrows in unison with her when she takes a seat next to him.

“What are you doing on this side of the register?”

Jess eyes the kitchen and opens his mouth to answer but is interrupted by Luke appearing in the doorway.

“Rory!” He says, overly chipper. “What’ll it be?”

“Uhm-” She glances at Jess who frowns at Luke.

“She’ll have a reasonable answer to my question, you need me to repeat it?” Jess says. “What are you doing here?”

Rory looks back at Luke.

“Yeah!” She says. “What he said.”

“Would you leave it alone?” Luke grumbles at Jess.

Jess gives off a short little bark of a laugh.

“I would love to leave it be, except I drove all the way here to work so you can have your stupid Sunday off, found you’re here, claiming the day, so the very least you could do is let me know-”

Luke, who’s fervently been scrubbing a spot next to the register, looks up and cuts off Jess’s tirade.

“Guilt me all you want, how was I supposed to know you’ve started turning your phone on before nine am?” He starts to jaggedly load the coffee maker. 

Jess leans toward Rory, voice lowered.

“Care to fill me in on the status here?”

Rory shrugs and whispers a response:

“I’m not sure. He slept here, but no one said anything about him working today.”

“I’m sure it’s a delightful surprise for everyone involved.”

“I can hear you.” Luke says. “And Lorelai knows! Manage your own lives for a change.”

Rory and Jess look at each other.

“What do we do?” She mouths.

His chest rises and falls in a sigh,

“I think we have to let him have this one.” He turns to Luke. “But this is a one time deal.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Luke waves dismissively at them.

Jess slides off his chair and Rory stands too. 

“Have you had breakfast?” She asks.

“Obviously not.”

“Me neither. Weston’s?”

He chuckles, and turns to Luke once more.

“We’re taking our business elsewhere!”

“Real nice.” Luke growls.

Jess puts a hand on Rory’s shoulder and ushers her out with him. The snow has melted, but it’s still winter and the town is covered in a cold gray fog. It’s the kind of morning you’d definitely stay in for unless you had to be somewhere, so she understands Jess’s point of view even outside of the unpleasant circumstances. Weston’s is cozy though, warm, smelling of pie, and the baristas have placed tiny candles in the windows and on the table to fight off the glum outdoors. It’s still too early for crowds and they wind up being the first ones there. They order and get a table by the window.

“So,” he says after a few sips of coffee, “what have you read this week?”

Her laugh turns into a yawn.

“Loads of interesting things. I made it through The Human Condition for Poly Sci, and was planning on recapping it for you but after Friday I think I’ve blacked out.” She rubs her temples. “What have you learned?”

“Do you have to ask?” He leans his head in his hand.

“I was thinking more along the lines of some piece of fact, preferably unrelated to impolite society.”

“So I guess that book on polo I read at The Windsor Club is out?”

“Yes!”

“Let me think…” He laughs to himself. “I learned enough to be forced to admit that the Rambler’s V8 burns more gas than almost any other engine model no matter what it’s doing. And the only thing it does do better than all the other models is simply being a V8-engine. Unfortunately I’m not enough of a car aficionado to take any solace in that.”

She chuckles. 

“But apparently I can increase my mileage by thirty-five percent if I just accelerate slowly and steadily.” He finger quotes. “And the seats are pretty comfortable.” 

“That is very important.” She says, and takes a big bite of her pie.

She eats and he stirs his coffee looking out the window.

“So, what’s this favor you had in mind?” She asks after a couple of minutes.

He grimaces, apparently not liking the reminder.

“Shane showed up at the store, and used Chris to rope me into making an appearance at the venue she works at.”

She giggles, leans over and pats his head.

“Poor thing.” 

“Laugh all you want but just saying I’m dating someone is not gonna cut it with her.”

“So, you need me to come.”

“Pretty much.”

She nods, and hesitates slightly before speaking again.

“Won’t she assume I’m just a friend?” She asks. “I mean, like we’ve always been.”

He smiles, amused.

“I hope this doesn’t ruin anything for you but she doesn’t really like you. She’ll assume the worst, and I’m planning on adding verbal confirmation too. Pretty sure she’ll be done with me after that.”

She turns her coffee cup a few degrees clockwise.

“Okay. I’m all yours. When is it?”

“Friday-” He starts, but stops as something apparently hits him. “Shit. Isn’t-?”

“Friday night is fine, my grandparents are on their honeymoon.”

“Right.” He chews on his lower lip for a second. “Have you talked to them?”

“Nope.”

“Your- that Logan-guy sure came through.” He says.

She tries to decipher his expression but can’t.

“Yeah, I didn’t know he had it in him.” She answers haltingly.

He smiles, a little soft smile.

“Well, you like him, that should be proof of something.”

She blushes, and holds back a caustic comment about the fact that she used to like Dean too, it’ll just invite problems. He eats the last of his muffin.

“I should go, no matter what Luke assumes, I actually do have things I’d rather be doing than drive back and forth between Hartford and Stars Hollow on Sunday mornings.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

He taps his chin with his index finger. 

“Smoking cigarettes and watching Captain Kangaroo.”

She laughs.

“Fair enough.” She finishes her coffee. “I should check on my mom.”

He gets up, slipping into his jacket.

“Sorry ‘bout the motor trivia.”

“Don’t be.” She stands up too, reaching for her jacket. “You know, my old car, the one we wrecked, it had a V8 engine.”

He smiles broadly.

The week passes. She tries calling Logan again on Monday but just gets his voice mail, with a new message referencing Poker Night and aimed at Robert - a friend of his she’s only met once and whose main interaction with him seems to be taking him for all he has. When the tone beeps she just hangs up.

She calls her mother who turns out to be busy arranging a pancake breakfast for a group of girls and their dolls, clearly leaning into work so she won’t have time to deal with her personal crisis. Rory considers pointing it out before deciding against it. It’s not the worst idea to let Lorelai cool off.

Friday approaches and she feels herself getting nervous about the night in Hartford. Jess calls her on Thursday to remind her, as if he has to.

"Is there a dresscode?" She asks.

He chuckles on the other end.

"As much as I think we both rocked our first time in suits I think it's wiser if we keep this more casual."

"So, no direction?"

"Well, it's a rock club, so maybe something..." He falls silent and a smile spreads across her face.

"Jess Mariano, are you telling me to wear something sexy?"

There's silence on the other end when he obviously grasps for words.

"And what does that instruction say about your opinion of my wardrobe normally?" She's enjoying this too much.

"I didn't say a word!" He says, voice thick with laughter. 

Truth is, her wardrobe has range, she is her mother’s daughter after all, but the pieces she usually winds up in tend to be, if not modest then cute, and this is actually a great opportunity to wear something that would otherwise stay on its hanger until Lorelai confiscates it. 

Rory hasn’t seen Shane since the Stars Hollow High’s graduation ceremony, and the way she looked at her then didn’t exactly make her want to start a conversation. She’s aware that Shane disliked her from day one, and familiar with the phenomena of the girlfriend hating the girl-friend. She normally thinks it’s a waste for girls to hate each other over anything involving a guy, but not with Shane for some reason. She can’t even bring herself to feel bad for her other than on paper over Jess ditching her, even if she knows she should. She blames those darn mean girl streaks of hers. And accordingly, the nervousness feels more like adrenaline than anything else. 

* * *

_Jess_

Eventually he loses it, despite it being wildly ironic that he can’t figure out what to wear to a casual night out in Hartford, Connecticut.

“Shit!” He tosses the shirt he was considering on the couch.

Chris leaves his place by the kitchen counter and comes wandering up to him. He’s already dressed and ready, but has a dishcloth stuffed into his shirt to not spill ramen from the bowl he's eating out of. He cooly regards the discarded garment and then his friend.

“What was wrong with this one?” He asks.

Jess doesn’t answer, just pulls out another shirt from his drawer.

“Why can’t I dress for a stupid rock club?” He mutters.

“It’s partly my fault.” Chris shrugs. “I’ve let this go on for too long. I dropped the ball when Lily left, I admit it.”

“I’m not some toddler who needs to be taught how to interact with people!”

Chris tilts his head, giving him a tight smile indicating that, yes, he is.

“Your problem might be that you don’t know what you’re going for.” He remarks, picking up the shirt from the couch, holding it toward Jess. “Are you trying to look your best for Rory or your worst for Shane-?”

Jess groans, but Chris just squints at him, ignoring the sound.

“-Or the other way around?”

“I’m doing this because you forced my hand, I’m trying to get Shane off my back-”

“-And into my arms.” Chris smiles.

“Preferably not, but if you feel you must then I won’t stop you.” He reaches to pull out a third t-shirt from the drawer, but Chris shuts it before he makes it.

“And you’re doing this with Rory masquerading as your girlfriend.”

Jess tries pushing Chris’s hand from the drawer.

“I scratched her back now she scratches mine.”

“Uh-huh.”

Jess gives up and straightens his back.

“Don’t jerk me around, Chris, tell me you get it.”

Chris smiles too widely.

“Oh, I get it, you’re children, but I get it.” He gives Jess another once-over, tosses the shirt he’s holding over his shoulder, pointing to the one in Jess’s hand. “The Tool-shirt is fine, not trying too hard is textbook I-have-a-girlfriend-behaviour.”

“Fuck off.” Jess sing-songs while pulling on the shirt.

Chris smirks, and exits the room loudly slurping from his bowl. Jess turns back to the mirror and drags his fingers through his hair, it’s getting too long and he needs product to make it acceptable, not trying at all is definitely a sign of being hopelessly single. He strokes a hand across his chin, he needs a shave too.

Since last Friday he’s slept terribly. The moments when he’s supposed to drop everything and just rest are filled up with the memories of that night. All the jabs from her family, sure, but mostly the kiss. Him kissing her hand, and her kissing him, his mouth. He puts on music to block it out while shaving and fixing his hair. 

Then he fills up on toast before he and Chris head out. The place is close enough to walk and he catches himself thinking that this town is several sizes too small for both him and Shane to share. Rock Inn is one of too few established concert locales, and he’s been here a couple of times already, but never felt like he had to watch his back before. 

The place is painted black, its walls plastered with band posters overlapping each other and old graffiti, the floor is sticky from years of spilled drinks that no amount of cleaning can ever fully rid it of. The venue is half full when they arrive with people spread out unevenly; some sitting at the tables in the back, others standing in line at the bar, and the tiny fan club of the opening act does its best to mosh in front of the stage. Jess and Chris stand in the back and watch the spectacle while more and more people slowly but steadily fill the space.

There’s a tap at his shoulder and he turns just to have Shane throw her arms around him, she smells like bubblegum and cigarette smoke.

“You came!” She exclaims, before letting go of him.

She’s in her own clothes, combat boots, her shirt and pants torn and patched back together with stylishly placed safety pins, and a short black apron draped around her hips.

“We said we would.” Jess responds and gestures at Chris who waves hopefully.

“Well, that is a vast improvement from when we dated.” Shane quips. “Hi.” She allows in Chris’s direction, then: “I’m working the merchstand the first shift if you feel like hanging out.”

Jess opens his mouth to answer quickly before Chris says whatever else ropes him into something for the following hours, but he doesn’t get a chance to make a sound, because Rory appears from the crowd and everything else seems to fall away.

“Hey babe.”

Just the words, and Rory’s voice speaking them, he goes hot and braces himself for impact. Then she’s right next to him and he folds his arms around her body. She puts an arm around his shoulder and her lips just briefly to the skin of his neck, but it’s still enough to make him tighten his grip around her top, some silky, black sleeveless thing. She’s wearing lipstick and her eyes are distinctly sooted, he notices when she pulls back her face to smile at his friend.

“Hi Chris.” She says. 

Chris mouths a greeting and watches the scene unravel with obvious and shameless curiosity. Rory leans slightly against Jess and keeps her hand on his shoulder while turning her head pretending to notice Shane for the first time.

“Oh, hi! You work here?”

Shane’s face is frozen, her lips tight. 

“It’s been a while.” Rory goes on at Shane’s lack of response.

Jess feels her fingers fiddling with the worn neck of his t-shirt and is wildly distracted wondering if Shane can see it.

“Yeah.” Shane finally says. “I guess you’re in the Ivy Leagues now.”

“Yale.” Rory smiles, and he’s so proud of her, like she’s actually his.

“Figures.” Shane says, staring daggers at her. 

Rory seems completely unfazed by the hostility, instead turning her body to his, placing her hand on his chest, right below his collarbone. 

“I want a beer.” She says, just like that.

He actually manages a chuckle.

“Let’s go get one then.” 

“Well, some of us gotta work.” Shane says, and turns to leave.

“Oh, hey-” Chris starts at her, but too late; She’s already gone in the loud music, the dark space.

The three of them head for the bar, Jess puts his hand in the small of Rory’s back for show despite it making him too aware of both their bodies in an uncomfortable way. They get beers and stand by the edge of the dancefloor shouting short but distinct conversation at each other over the music. 

Chris is at his best behaviour around Rory, bringing up the more interesting aspects of his personality and skillset with focus on his fanzine years. Rory, the dear, listens with precision and a level of attention Jess knows she doesn’t fake, and he thinks about the conversation with Luke: She has a talent for seeing the best in people, it's just how she is, to everyone, you’re not special. 

And there it is, the jealousy, he hasn’t felt it in a while, or, no, not true, he feels it so much he’s numb, just never around his best friend. He’s almost completely lost in the feeling when she sneaks her arm around his waist, puts the side of her face to his and her lips to his ear.

“Put your hand in my back pocket.” The touch is just one thing, it makes him want to drop everything and put his hands on her, anywhere, no need to be specific, but he manages to stop himself, and pulls back, frowning at her.

“What?”

She closes the distance between them again and speaks into his ear.

“She’s watching.”

He sneaks a glance at the merchstand where Shane sits and glares at them, arms crossed. Jess looks back at Rory.

“Yeah, but the Sixteen Candles reference?”

“It’s obviously a universal language.” She mocks.

“Shane made me watch that movie.” He defends himself.

“Good, so she’ll know what it means.”

“I hated that movie.”

“Of course you did, you’re a reasonable man, but discussing its merits or lack thereof right now is irrelevant.” Her voice is soft, persuasive, probably so it’ll look like she’s into him.

He pauses, mostly to steady his voice.

“Is she still looking?”

“Yup.” The breath from the word is in his ear and he gives in and puts his hand into her back pocket.

He does, and completely loses his ability to think about anything else. It’s just a gesture, a symbol, but for a reason, a casual intimacy, one that says this is something we do frequently and probably without any clothes on. And to think that about Rory… It’s forbidden, and has been for a very long time. It doesn’t matter that it’s fake, now it’s jammed into his head and body, and he’s reacting accordingly. And he finds himself craving the etiquette of the renewal, her suit, this so called casual setting demands too much of him, and her outfit- He gathers all his self discipline and leans his face to her ear, ignoring that he can smell her hair and skin and that it feels like just enough to tip him over.

“Still looking?”

She turns her head slightly then shakes it. He quickly withdraws his hand, like he burnt it. She straightens slightly next to him, puts some distance between them.

He excuses himself to use the bathroom. While he’s in there he hears the main act starting to play. He’s just heading back when he bumps into Shane waiting outside the facilities, she has her hands on her hips, and must have taken time from work to confront him.

“This is who you’re seeing?” She says, gesturing at the dance floor, where Rory is standing next to Chris facing the stage.

He feels guilty all of a sudden; guilty for leaving without telling her, for lying to her now, and for getting together with her in the first place, she wasn’t who he wanted, but he figured it wouldn’t make a difference, because he didn’t want to be who he was. He swallows, and lies some more.

“Yeah.”

She smiles, but it’s more like she’s baring her teeth.

“I fucking knew it.” Her voice is caustic. “I mean, it was so obvious. Why would you of all people waste time weekly getting tutored by little miss perfect?”

Words about how nothing happened flock to his mouth from old habit, but he holds them back, her assumptions serve their purpose right now. He doesn’t answer. She leans closer.

“You must be very happy.” She hisses.

There’s nothing left to say, finally.

“I’m sorry.” He says, anyway.

He walks past her and over to Rory and Chris. They stand and listen for a few numbers, Chris glances at the merchstand a few times, then he leans in.

“I think we should leave.” He says.

Jess turns to face him.

“You and me both.” He responds, equal parts relieved and puzzled.

Chris shakes his head.

“I underestimated her grudge against you, and I have a reservation at the Bourgeoisie.”

“A reservation? What are you talking about?”

Chris smiles contently.

“Mind your own business.”

Jess is about to protest but Chris turns to Rory.

“You hungry, miss Gilmore?”

She brightens.

“Always.” She says.

Chris offers his arm and she takes it, gets led toward the exit, and Jess has to follow. They leave the now crowded club and the fresh air would feel a lot better if he knew what Chris was up to. 

The burger joint is only a few blocks away, and as soon as they arrive Rory places a generous order along with Chris, while Jess sticks to fries. They eat. Chris and Rory keep talking. The food effectively erases her lipstick and she’s kept her jacket over her shoulders in the drafty locale. Jess has a few bites of his meal and has just started feeling comfortable, when they’re interrupted.

“Christian.” The name is spoken loudly enough to alert the other guests of the presence of a skinny, well-dressed guy who’s just entered and is looking in their direction.

Chris gets up as the guy approaches the table.

“Matthew.” He responds with a somber nod.

The guy apparently named Matthew reaches them and pulls Chris into a hug.

“Good sir!” He belts, prompting Chris to do the same.

Rory seeks Jess’s eyes, smiling in curiosity, and Jess tries to convey his ignorance with a frown and a shrug. Chris breaks the hug and gestures to the table.

“Allow me to introduce the lovely miss Rory Gilmore of the Hartford Gilmores-”

Matthew bows to her and she just hands him her hand, like she does this all the time, while quietly laughing. 

“And this is Jess Mariano.” Chris says.

A spark of recognition glimmers in Matthew’s face as he reaches to shake Jess’s hand. Chris keeps talking.

“Rory, Jess, this is Matt.”

“We grew up together.” Matt says.

“Survived Wynnewood High together.” Chris adds.

“Ran a fanzine to rival the school newsletter together.” Matt pills up a chair and sits down.

“Two, actually,” Chris interjects, “but the other was for World of Warcraft fanon.”

Rory smiles at Jess and he returns it. Matt sighs theatrically.

“Then my parents enrolled me at Penn State and Chris chased some girl he barely knew all the way to Connecticut of all places, and we lost touch for a while.”

“Then what?” Rory asks, leaning her head in her hands, like a mesmerised child.

“I’m delighted you asked Rory.” Matt says. “After being landlocked for the better part of two years and being deemed mediocre by yet another professor I decided I was worth more than my academic abilities.” He closes his fist, and rhythmically pounds it in the air at his words. “I was gonna carve out my place in the world; A publishing house, preferably in Philly, using my own two hands. But then I remembered that I used to have four.” He points all his fingers in the direction of Chris. “I called Chris and he’d just been dumped. I call that fate.”

“Fate, huh?” Rory says, tone mischievous. “What do your folks say about you deserting?”

“I’m appalled you asked, Rory.” Matt shakes his head in apparent disappointment. “They’re not speaking to me at the moment, but it’s hardly the first time.”

Chris snorts in recognition.

“So, why are you here then?” Rory asks, like the journalist she aspires to be. “To drag Christian back to Philadelphia?”

Matt smiles.

“I don’t have to drag him, he’s already coming, I’m here to convince Jess.”

Rory turns her head to Jess, her face bare with surprise. Jess’s heartbeat picks up.

“You’re moving to Philadelphia?” She asks, and he can’t make sense of the tone of her voice for once.

“No!” It comes out sharper than he intended. “Chris, I told you-”

“And I listened.” Chris says, a firm and rare expression on his face. “But you didn’t have all the facts, you hadn’t met Matt, I figured you should at least do that.”

Matt leans across the table and speaks directly to Jess, his voice is steady and fast.

“We haven’t gotten started yet, and it’s a risk, but you might have everything to gain from this kind of venture, tons of experience even if everything else crashes and burns, which seems unlikely with you aboard, from what Chris tells me.”

Jess glares at Chris who holds out his hands.

“He tells me you write too-” Matt goes on, and Jess turns back to him.

“Nothing but a frickin’ notebook that I won’t even show anyone!”

“You showed me!” Rory objects.

“And me.” Chris adds and bumps Rory’s fist.

It’s true. It started early with Rory, back when he was trying to prove his literacy and subsequent worth to her, and with Chris, well, close quarters.

Matt goes on.

“You read everything, and quickly, remember everything, one hell of an organiser-”

Jess grimaces.

“You’re making me blush.”

“And you’re humble too.” Matt smiles.

Jess straightens in his seat.

“Matthew- Matt- I’m sorry you had to come out here for nothing but I told Chris-”

“I know what you told him.” Matt says. “He told me. He also said he really wanted you in on this. I’m not an academic, but I do have this talent for persuasion. You’ll see.”

“Well,” Rory starts, standing up, “I should leave you to your pitch-meeting.”

“Rory-” Jess starts but she shushes him.

“It’s important, Jess.” She says, her face both firm and soft. “Chris, nice seeing you again. And Matt, it’s been a pleasure.”

“Dito.”

Chris waves.

“‘Til next time miss Gilmore.”

Jess gets up and into his jacket.

“Don’t you dare run off!” Chris protests.

“Relax! I’m just walking her to her car.”

They exit the diner and Jess pulls out his cigarettes. He tries not to smoke around Rory but tonight he needs to. She waits until he’s lit one and then walks next to him back toward the club and her parked car. The sky above them is black but peppered with stars, and accordingly it’s cold. White breath plumes around Rory’s mouth too, even if she doesn’t smoke.

“An up and coming publisher.” She says, smiling shyly.

“Secretarial duty.” He responds quickly, dismissively.

“At a publishing house.” She goes on. “That you would be a founder of.”

He takes a drag from his cigarette.

“I don’t know…” She shakes her lovely head. “It sounds really exciting, Jess.”

He swallows.

“Yeah, well, I’ve had enough excitement for a lifetime.” He mutters.

They’re almost at her car and she stops.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

He rolls his eyes.

“Because I’m not going to Philadelphia.”

She does not look convinced, and he forces a reassuring smile and reaches to squeeze her arm. She opens her mouth as if to say something but her phone rings. She picks it from her bag, looks at the display and declines the call.

“Your dad?” He asks.

She smiles tightly.

“No, he’s actually kept his distance. That was Logan, I’ll call him back later.”

He takes a last drag of the cigarette before putting it out on the sidewalk. They remain standing opposite each other quietly, and he’s sure she has more to say, but can’t tell what. He does too, but he always does, so he’s used to it, everything pushing against his insides, looking for a way out. Eventually she takes an audible breath.

“Well, I should go. And you should listen to Matt-” She starts, and goes on before he has a chance to protest. “Even if you’re not going. They want you, you’re being headhunted-”

“Rory-” He tries.

“You deserve it. You should at least try to enjoy it.”

He presses his lips together, and gives her a nod.

“See you Sunday?” 

“Yeah.” She weighs between her feet, smiling inwardly before taking a step up and pecking his cheek. 

He regrets the cigarette, he must smell like it, while her scent is warm and full of her, and he’s learned too much about it lately, he closes his eyes and wants to fall head first into it, forget about everything. But he clears his throat.

“Thanks,” he says, unsure why, so he adds: “for today.”

“You’re very welcome.” She nods along with her words. “Bye.”

“Bye.”

She drives off. He lights another cigarette and his chest hurts. He heads back to the burger joint and finishes his cold fries out of pure stubbornness, and listens to Matt who lays out his plans. He tries to enjoy it, but it gets harder because he actually likes what he’s hearing. And that doesn’t sit well with his determination to stay, not well at all. 

Eventually Chris suggests a change of venue and Matt drops the subject when they arrive at the bar closest to their apartment, order beers and strike up a conversation with some girls at the next table.

Jess heads outside with the distinct plan to chainsmoke the rest of his pack. He’s halfway through it when Chris joins him.

“Got one for me?”

Jess offers his pack and lighter.

“So what do you think?” Chris asks after his first drag.

“I think you’ll have a great time in Philadelphia.”

“You could too.”

Jess forces a smile.

“You’ll do fine without me. Matt’s really driven.”

Chris sighs.

“Well then, if you’re not going-” Chris hands him back his things, “then when are you gonna get serious with Rory?”

The straight question is too much for Jess, who looks away.

“It’s not real, Chris.” He mumbles.

“Whatever, man. It’s obvious you’re crazy about her, and I think it might be mutual.”

He looks at Chris and finds him earnest, a slight smile on his face. He steadily meets his friend’s gaze and repeats what he’s told himself a thousand times:

“It’s a game, it’s fake.”

Chris frowns at him.

“It definitely isn’t for you. You should’ve seen your own face tonight.”

Jess shakes his head, and steps on his cigarette. Chris touches his arm to get his attention. 

“Hey. If it makes you feel any better I can’t say I blame you. A girl is a valid reason to stay put, or go if that’s what you need to do,” he shifts his weight, “but why the hell are you saying no to me if you’re not getting with her?”

It’s the worst thing he could have asked him. He’s angry, but can’t express it, because Chris doesn’t know, and if he did he wouldn’t get it, through no fault of his own. Jess wrestles with the feeling, but takes too long to respond because Chris speaks again.

“You should at least tell her.”

Jess can’t help a frustrated chuckle.

“Christian, that is the worst idea in the history of ideas.”

Chris just smiles.

“Hey, if shit don’t work out I know someplace you could go,” he says.

He finishes his cigarette too and pats Jess on the shoulder while ushering him back inside. 

It winds up being just Jess and Chris going back home a couple of hours later, since Matt actually hooks up with one of the girls. So, there might be something to his powers of persuasion, but Jess has always been more resilient than most.


	6. Known By the Sobriquet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously on Gilmore Girls: Gosh. Things are not how they should be with Lorelai and Luke. But Rory seemed to enjoy the night in Hartford, and her presence had the desired effect on Shane, right? I’m not sure how to feel about Matt showing up though, trying to convince Jess to leave Connecticut. I mean, how are Rory and Jess gonna get together if- Hold up. I’m getting ahead of myself here. Let’s just see what happens. One chapter at a time.

_Jess_

Sunday comes and Jess drives to Stars Hollow again, Luke isn’t at the diner this time, instead he’s off fishing. It gnaws at Jess more than it should, for reasons unclear, but the diner is also out of coffee filters and it is not like Luke to forget. 

There’s no time to dwell on it however and he hurries over to Doose’s to correct the mistake. Taylor himself is behind the counter glaring at him from the second he enters. He waves at the overzealous proprietor until he’s out of his sight behind the shelf holding toiletries to tea and coffee at its other end. 

Because of Taylor he usually avoids coming here so he has trouble finding the filters, which reasonably should be sorted with the coffee but somehow aren’t. He’s just about to check the next shelf when he feels someone watching him, and turns, ready to tell Taylor to get lost, politely, but it’s not Taylor. It’s Dean, and his new girlfriend- what’s her name? Leslie, Lizzie? 

They’re standing just inside the door to the supply closet, maybe his presence interrupted a make-out session or something. She shies away with her eyes when she registers him noticing them, but Dean glares at him, like some fun house mirror image of Taylor and doesn’t stop until his girl says his name. Jess hurries in behind the other shelf, and continues his search there. 

“Who’s that?” The girl whispers.

“No one. Just Luke’s gofer.” 

Dean’s voice is soft, and if Jess didn’t know more than he would like about aggression he might not even have noticed how it’s low enough to imitate a private conversation, but loud enough for someone else to be able to hear.

“Did he go to school with us?” She however seems genuinely concerned about being heard and doesn’t match her boyfriend’s volume.

“Rarely.” Dean snorts.

Reason would argue that Jess has the option of not listening anyway, but nobody ever called him reasonable.

“How come I never see him around?”

“Like we’d set foot in that dive.”

“I do!” The girlfriend objects. “Me and my mom get coffee there at least once a month.”

The tone in Dean’s voice shifts.

“Why do you care anyway, Lindsey?”

“I don’t.” Her answer is quick and Jess feels an actual twinge in his stomach even if he doesn’t want to think about why.

“Good.” His voice goes lighter again, easier to hear. “But either way I don’t think he’s the type to hold down a steady job. And once a month isn’t exactly frequent.”

“Luke’s is so grumpy.” Lindsey says, like it’s news.

Dean laughs.

“And he’s gotten worse!” Lindsey goes on, encouraged. “My aunt came back from there on Wednesday and said he totally snapped at her because her phone rang.”

“My guess is he’s not getting laid anymore.”

Jess actually jerks at the words. That’s it. He has to get out of here before he loses it. He desperately looks through the shelves with post-its and copier paper. 

Lindsey giggles.

“You’re so bad!”

“What? It was never gonna last with her. I put money on them only making it a month, so I’m not getting paid, but basically I was right.”

Finally, Jess spots the filters. apparently deemed better placed by the canned goods, once more reaffirming Taylor’s low-key insanity. 

“What bow did you pick?” Lindsey asks.

“Bow?”

“Taylor’s thing about them. Pink for her, blue for him.”

“I wouldn’t wear something like that!” Dean sneers.

Jess grabs a package of number sixes.

“I like the pink.”

“You’re not supposed to pick from color but what it represents.” 

Dean’s patronising tone is enough to make Jess’s blood boil. Meanwhile, Lindsey defends herself.

”Well, I don’t know any of them.” 

“You should count yourself lucky.”

He has to leave, why is he frozen?

“Didn’t you date Rory Gilmore?”

“Did being the operative word.”

Jess takes a breath, the first one for a while.

“Dean!” Lindsey sounds equal parts shocked and pleased.

“What?” Dean doesn’t even bother keeping his voice down anymore, but goes on, rallying. “Let’s just say I have first-hand knowledge in the matter. Neither one of them is capable of keeping a guy around.”

Jess’s body moves without him having any say in the matter. He reaches out and deliberately tips a jar off the edge of its shelf. The glass breaks on the tile, splatting tomato sauce over the floor.

Dean steps out from the doorway with a jagged motion and makes his way over to Jess, doing that thing he does where he towers over him. Jess keeps his eyes fixed onto Dean’s face, refusing to budge.

“What the hell are you doing?”

You know what I’m doing, Jess thinks but doesn’t say. Rage burns in his chest, but fortunately he has years of experience in curbing it, unlike some others apparently. He grabs onto the edges of the feeling and holds on tight, makes his voice soft and his face blank.

“I sure am sorry about that.”

“Watch it!” Dean seems ready to start a fight, like he’s been itching for an excuse.

“Dean, what’s going on back there?” Taylor’s voice.

Jess smiles.

“You should get your mop.”

“I’m not cleaning up after you!”

Jess raises his eyebrows.

“And here I thought clean-up would be part of your work description, but what would I know, I’m not really the type to hold down a job.”

Taylor appears at the end of the row.

“What on earth is going on here?”

Jess turns to him, shrugs, and holds out his hands.

“Sorry about that. I’m a klutz. I’ll pay for the jar, but unfortunately I have to go, got a diner to open.” He taps his wristwatch, hands Taylor a bill and leaves.

He unlocks the diner and just leaves it open, loading the coffee machine on autopilot while the conversation at Doose’s plays on repeat in his head. 

It’s hardly surprising Dean dislikes him, but the level of his hatred seems out of proportion to what they actually are to each other, reasonably speaking that is. There’s a part of him that revels in Dean’s aversion because it legitimates his own. 

Jess hates him, and has more or less since day one. The fact that he’s no longer with Rory has lessened the urgency of the feeling, but he still has trouble looking at the guy without wanting to kick his ass. He hasn’t been in a fight for years, so he isn’t at the top of his game, even if that stuff never leaves you completely. He isn’t even sure he could take him, Dean is over six feet tall and obviously ready for him. But still. The reason he hasn’t already is only partly Rory, and mostly Luke, it would cause trouble for his uncle, and he’s done with that kind of shit. 

His thoughts are interrupted when the door chimes, first with Kirk, and then Rory, about fifteen minutes later. She comes in and sits at the counter where he pours her a cup of coffee and musters a smile at her, apparently a bit too bleak, because she squints at him.

“You okay?”

He waves dismissively. 

“Fine. Tired.”

“Oh.” She takes a sip of her coffee.

“Did you get a hold of your guy?” He asks and opens the register to empty a few coin rolls.

“He’s not my guy.” 

Her answer is automatic, and today that bothers him.

“Why not? Apart from his clear lapse in judgement regarding this whole dating thing, he seems like a decent match for you.”

She frowns at him for a second, probably surprised at him questioning her, then sticks out her tongue.

“Thanks, grandpa.”

Jess sighs and breaks a roll in half.

“Speaking of which, I’m betting neither your actual grandpa or pa would have any objections to him escorting you anywhere-” He empties the coins into its compartment.

“Don’t forget my grandma.”

He fixes her with a stare. 

“Well, you mentioned his lapse in judgement.” She shrugs.

“He doesn’t date, I hear.” Jess rolls his eyes.

“Nope, but he wants to meet you.” She smiles tightly.

Jess closes the register with bang.

“What for? He knows it’s not-” He can’t finish the sentence. “He knows about us, right?”

She looks away and speaks into her mug.

“I haven’t been completely clear about it, no.”

“Rory!”

She puts down her coffee.

“I told him the truth, we’re friends, the thing about my grandma, but he didn’t believe me. What was I supposed to do?” She holds up her hands.

“Great! So he wants to size me up!”

Rory shakes her head.

“I highly doubt that.” 

“Why?”

She makes eye contact.

“It’s not his style.” She picks her coffee back up and holds the mug between two hands. “No, his reasoning was more along the lines of any friend of mine he’d like to know.”

“I’m sure.” He mutters. “Please tell me you didn’t say yes.”

“I told him I’d ask you. What?” She says, when he starts rubbing his temples. “You don’t have to go.”

“Rory.”

“You don’t.”

“Of course I do.” He bites his lip. “Did he mention a date?”

She smiles, must know she has him.

“No. That’s not his style either. And he’s going off on some stunt with the Life And Death Brigade anyhow.”

Jess leans on the counter and lowers his voice.

“Maybe he’ll hit his head, or drink real hard and forget about it.”

“It’s a possibility.” She chuckles, and he smirks.

“And,” he straightens, encouraged, “the harsh reality is all I do is work, so that might make things difficult for him.” 

He picks up a tray to collect the salt- and pepper shakers, and catches Rory turn in her seat following him with her eyes.

“That settles it. I have to get a job.” She mumbles.

“I thought your grandparents were paying for school.”

“That might be part of my problem.”

“When do they get back?” He asks.

“Another two weeks.” She seems lost in thought for a second before clearing her throat. “But I meant, if I had a job it’d be a valid excuse to get out of stuff.”

“Well, that is the main reason I hold down two,” He says deadpan. “I’d get a third if my schedule would allow it.”

She smiles at his joke, and he feels bad for her, suddenly, that and another feeling he doesn’t have the brain power to identify straight away, something hot and itching.

“Paying for school myself seems pretty cool right about now though.”

Frustration, that’s what it is, and not just about the things and people surrounding her, but about her too, all the things she knows, and all the things she doesn’t. She’s so much to so many, so full of herself that she spills over, while he feels frayed at the edges from not being enough, barely even to himself.

“It would have to be one hell of a job to put you through Yale.” He soberly remarks and starts moving between tables filling up the tray. 

She’s quiet, stares at the floor.

“But just the staying busy-aspect would be kind of sweet too.” She’s still in the conversation, and absently chews on her lower lip. “My dad sent me an email.”

He stops moving.

“Anything interesting?”

She sighs, melodically.

“Unfortunately not. I didn’t answer.”

“How’s your mom doing?”

Now she looks up at him, and he feels the impact of it.

“I’m gonna go with not great.” Her tone is light enough though. “She came to visit on Friday, we had dinner at the Yale cafeteria and it’s not like I mind the company, but she wouldn’t have been there if she’d had plans with Luke.” 

He lifts the last couple of shakers onto his tray and returns to the counter.

“I’ll talk to him.”

“Apparently they’re signed up to help with Fiddler on the Roof, so they can’t avoid each other completely.” She leans over the counter peering at his legs. “Hey, what happened to your pants? Is that tomato-sauce?”

Would that it were the blood of your ex, Jess thinks but doesn’t say, and clears his throat. 

“I just knocked over a jar in the back earlier.”

“Klutz.” She teases.

A moment passes and he starts unscrewing the tops of the shakers to fill them. He laughs a little, quietly.

“What?” She asks, smiling.

“Can you believe this is what it has come to?”

She smiles, showing teeth.

“Baby-sitting two grown-ups, you mean?” She leans her head in her hand. “You’d think our lives weren’t interesting enough.”

“Did I mention all I do is work?” He picks up the package of salt and starts pouring it into the glass containers. “You on the other hand- What have you read?”

“Authorised Language: The Social Conditions for the Effectiveness of Ritual Discourse.” She answers without missing a beat. “A bit too meta for my taste, but that’s Sociology for ya. What did you learn?”

He groans, somehow didn’t bank on him having to answer the question himself.

“Are you abstaining from answering?” She shoots out her chin.

“No.” He stubbornly goes. 

“Well?”

He begrudgingly settles on something basic.

“I didn’t really learn it, but was reminded that Philly is also called The City of Brotherly Love.”

“Because of the original meaning of its name.” She nods.

“‘Give me any word, and I will show you that the root of that word is Greek’.”

Her eyes widen and she smiles broadly.

“My Big Fat Greek Wedding.”

“We saw that movie together.” He admits.

“We were meant to study.”

He shrugs.

“You can’t study all the time.”

“Or at all. Work on the other hand…” She quickly responds, then sighs. “It’s been too long since we’ve had time to watch movies.” She chuckles, then loses herself in thought. “God, Dean was so pissed when he figured out I’d already seen it.”

“Dean can go fuck himself.” Jess says, flatly. 

He keeps his eyes on the shakers for a few seconds, to take the edge off his statement, but there’s silence so he has to look up to scope out her reaction. She smiles at him.

“Yeah.” She breathes.

More customers arrive, and Caesar too, and the day passes. It’s sunny, in that cold, sharp way typical for this time of year, then eventually evening falls and Rory readies to leave. She slips into her coat and smiles at him.

”Until next Sunday.” She says.

”’Til then.” He answers. 

He follows her with his eyes until he can’t anymore and is just about to turn back to the remaining tasks before locking up, when the headlights of Luke’s truck blinds him through the windows as it pulls up. His uncle gets out and unloads his fishing gear, and Jess is angry, all of a sudden, so angry. He unties his apron, grabs his jacket and leaves the place as it is, walking out on the sidewalk.

”Hey.” He nods at Luke and tosses him the keys to the place.

Luke drops several things catching it on instinct.

”Jeez, Jess!”

”Catch anything?”

Luke frowns.

”What is your problem?” 

Jess walks past his uncle heading for the Rambler, but stops before reaching it, turning back to him.

”Just so you know, consensus ‘round here is you guys are broken up. So maybe get your shit together.” He bites.

The visible irritation runs off Luke, who looks at the pavement as if to see where the feeling went. Jess gets into the car and drives back to Hartford.

In the following days Chris starts packing up his stuff, and making calls planning the move. Jess notices mainly because his friend tries to stay out of his way while dealing with it. But a couple of days later Jess finds him going through their towels and bedlinen, which has to be done in front of the shallow closet in the hallway. Jess makes his way past him.

“Hey,” Chris says, “you wanna keep these?” He holds out a bed set.

“Nah, I’m fine.” Jess responds.

“You know you’re gonna have to get a new roommate, or another job, right?” Chris mumbles.

“I’m aware. I’m one hell of an organiser after all.”

“Not when it comes to your own life.” Chris mutters.

“Mind your own business, Christian.” Jess says, but he admits to himself that he hasn’t been in the right headspace to even start thinking about replacing Chris, here, or at the store.

* * *

_Rory_

It’s Saturday. Three-ish. Well, that depends on the actual definition of the ish-suffix vis-à-vis time; Half past three should be defined as the latest point in time where three-ish might still be applied, because after that it’s closer to four which means it’s more like four-ish. But the entire point of using the suffix in question is to apply a casual attitude toward time, to not rush the people involved. Around three, which incidentally is how many times she had to ask Marty to come over before he agreed, caved. She talked him into it, and wasn’t even sure why afterwards. She hadn’t seen him for so long and… she’s always had issues with impulse control. She critically looks down at her outfit loosely constructed around her headpiece, the wig itches, and now it’s officially four-ish. 

She picks out her phone.

“Yeah?” Jess answers, mouth full of something.

No point stalling.

“I talked Marty into a Marx brothers marathon with emphasis on the persuasive aspects of that expression. I pushed him into it and now it’s dawning on me that he’s brushing me off and I have a ton of snacks and have ordered pizza and am wearing a Harpo wig and it’s all for nothing and I thought about our conversation the other day and thought that maybe you would like to come and eat and watch?” She rambles and takes a breath first after she’s asked him.

“Glad to know I’m your second choice.” He mutters.

She clicks her tongue.

“Stop acting offended when you’re dying to come.”

There’s a pause, a breath.

“It has been a while since we had a movie night.” He finally says.

“I believe Almost Famous was the main feature.”

“Good times.”

“So you’ll come?”

There’s a tiny huff of air on his end that makes her sure he’s smiling.

“Be there in an hour.” He says.

She hangs up, feeling much better. That lasts for about a minute, then there’s a knock at the door and she opens it to Marty who comes bearing left-over canapés and a bad conscience for her. She still picks up their banter as usual and makes use of his upswing in mood after Paris has stormed off to Doyle’s place and tells him that she has another Marx-fan coming. But they’re already running late if they’re going to have time for all the movies so they start watching. 

Marty seems to enjoy himself, but she can’t get comfortable. Finally there’s another knock at the door and she’s on her feet in a split second answering it. Jess is outside, his hands in his pockets. 

“Hi Jess!” She chirps, then mumbles under her breath: “I’m so sorry but it turned out he was just running late.”

To her huge relief he just smiles at her.

“You’re the roller-coaster-ride, Rory Gilmore.”

She steps aside letting him in, then turns to Marty. 

“Marty, this is Jess, my tardy fellow Marx-freak.” 

Jess shoots her a glare but reaches for Marty’s hand.

“Rory said it would just be the two of us but I really thought we should be one for at least each core brother.” Marty says sunnily. 

“The only way to have a Marx Marathon,” Jess agrees and slips out of his jacket chucking it on the free armchair. “Call me Chico.” 

“Groucho here.” Marty says.

“So, where are we at?” Jess asks as he takes a seat next to Rory.

“Ten minutes left of Duck Soup.” Marty responds.

“You can pick the next one.” Rory offers.

“Monkey Business.” Jess immediately answers.

She laughs silently.

“Chico, I never would’ve guessed.”

“I’m a mysterious man.” 

He skillfully avoids the wasabi nuggets and goes for a pretzel, Marty and Rory exchange a glance and a smile.

“So, how do you guys know each other?” Jess says about half an hour into Monkey Business.

“Japanese Fiction, first year.” Rory answers.

Marty laughs.

“That’s a nice way of putting it.”

“He asked how we know each other, not how we met!” Rory objects.

“They have a class in Japanese Fiction?” Jess asks.

“See? Jess knows what matters!”

“Yeah, well, either way, my days of choosing classes for the fun of it are over,” Marty sighs, “my mother couldn’t quite stomach the idea of having an english mayor as a son.”

Jess picks up another pretzel, and it strikes Rory that Marty’s troubles must seem minor to him. She’s about to change the subject when there’s another knock at the door. 

”Oh man, I hope that’s Paris.” Marty chuckles. ”Maybe she and Doyle had a fight. That would be great.”

”Or maybe it’s the two of them, they could be Gummo and Zeppo.” Jess adds.

”They could do a bit with the wasabi nuggets.” Marty suggests.

Rory gets the door, but not before turning back to the guys shushing them. She opens it and jerks at the sight of Logan. Back early. Or just earlier than she thought. 

He steps inside and pecks her cheek.

“Hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“Well-” She starts, but stops when he looks over her shoulder and raises a hand.

“Marty! And Jess. Good to see you again.”

“It’s Groucho and Chico tonight.” Jess says with a straight face.

Logan raises his eyebrows but smiles.

“Yeah, Gummo and Zeppo are available if you wanna join our act,” Rory says, glancing at Marty who is straightening in his seat.

Logan touches her arm.

“I actually came by to get you, we’re going out to eat.”

Rory turns her head and exchanges a glance with Jess who raises an eyebrow at her.

“Got the girls in the car up front, Colin and Finn are already getting us a table, and prawn chips, lots and lots of prawn chips.”

She’s ready to turn Logan down, but he goes on before she has a chance to.

“Oh, come on now, you guys should join us too. Marty, if you’re hanging out with Ace like this it’s time I get to know you without a waiter’s uniform on.” 

Marty looks at Logan for a beat and Rory has time to think that some people you shouldn’t get to know outside certain situations, out of certain uniforms, then he smiles curtly and stands, wiping crumbs from his pants.

“Nah. I better get back home,” he turns to Jess, “you guys go, knock yourselves out.”

A part of her wants to put in the work and convince him, again. But this night is already so much messier than she anticipated. And she remembers why she never considered asking Marty to pretend to date her; Not just because he’d never be able to hold his own where she would need to take him, but because while asking Logan to fake-date her would be like a trap for him, asking Marty to do it would be like a trap for her. Besides, he moves too quickly and is out the door in seconds. 

Jess gets up and starts clearing away the snacks to the pentry area, and Rory joins him, while Logan waits by the door.

“We don’t have to do this,” she whispers as they put away the food.

“He wanted to meet me, right? Better to just get it over with.”

“Right.”

Logan offers them seats in the car but Jess decides to drive and she feels weird about splitting up so she rides with him as they follow Logan’s car. Social Distortion blares through the speakers. She glances at him and the shame catches up with her again.

“Sorry about all this.” She mumbles.

He lowers the volume and is quiet for a few seconds before speaking.

“Remember what I said about the rabbithole?”

“Vaguely.”

“I’m here ‘cause I wanna be,” he explains, “nothing worth experiencing is completely comfortable.”

“‘Worth experiencing’?” She smiles.

He gives her a look.

“All I do is work, Ror, and your life isn’t boring.”

He’s right, but she wouldn’t mind a slightly duller existence at the moment. Another few seconds pass. 

“The reason I didn’t ask Marty to do this with me is because I think he might like me.” She blurts.

“I got that.”

“I didn’t do-” she tries, “I haven’t encouraged anything but-”

“I know that too.” He glances at her. “It wouldn’t take much though.”

“Jess-”

“No, I mean, you see the best in people, you give ‘em genuine attention.” He shoots her a smile. “It’s pretty hard to not get smitten with that. But it’s just who you are, you can’t help it, and you shouldn’t.”

She looks at him, unable to answer.

“See, it’s just like me looking like someone from a modern Austen adaptation,” he goes, smirking, “people think I’m just like Mr Darcy so I’m constantly letting ‘em down.”

She bursts out laughing.

“I guess we all have our crosses to bear.”

They find a tiny parking space and Jess begins the process of fitting the car into it.

“You might try to give off more of a Wickham-vibe.” She suggests.

He snorts.

“Not sure that would help with my problem. Maybe if I go for Mr Palmer.” 

“That’s Luke!” She protests.

“No way, Luke is Mr Woodhouse!”

Rory is still laughing when they exit the car.

“Does that make you Emma?” She manages between her fits of giggling.

Now it’s his turn to laugh.

“But I was thinking more about Wentworth for you anyway.” She finishes with a smile. “More of a dark horse.”

Logan waits for them by the entrance to the restaurant and ushers them inside. When they arrive at the table Rory winds up between Logan and Jess, while the latter has Rosemary on his left and Colin and Finn make space for Juliet between them. 

The boys have already ordered in tons of food for everyone to share. Rory finds herself thinking about how much this will cost. She never thinks that way when she’s out with them on her own because someone else, usually the guys, is always covering the bill and she knows they have enough to do so. But Jess does not have the money to split a bill like this. Her tummy turns and she glances at him. He doesn’t seem to suffer the same qualms though and is in the process of loading up his plate, then accepts Logan’s offer to fill his glass. She’s slightly puzzled but quickly drops it because of the loud conversation and amount of food. 

She eats, she drinks. She hasn’t seen Colin and Finn for a while and Rosemary and Juliet for even longer and the boys are more than happy to fill her in on all their adventures. But Juliet is clearly distracted by the food she thinks she can’t eat, and Rosemary by Jess; she keeps looking at him and trying to engage him in the conversation. Rory smiles a little at the realization, especially after the Mr Darcy reference, but she can’t quite get down her normal amount of food after seeing it. 

“How do you guys know each other?” Rosemary asks Jess, leaning her head in her hand.

It's her third question aimed at him, and so far she’s only gotten polite but short answers. This one doesn’t shape up to yield anything different, and his mouth is full of food so Logan answers the question for him:

“They’ve known each other since high school.”

Jess swallows his food.

“Great story.” He adds.

“And you just now asked her out?” Finn goes.

“Better late than never.” Jess answers a bit pointedly and Rory is aware that Logan hasn’t in fact asked her out yet, not officially.

“The truth is I asked him out.” Rory firmly says.

Logan laughs.

“I’d be surprised but I’ve seen how well you wear pants.” He remarks.

Rory blushes, unsure why.

“Turns out you’ve been pining for me.” Jess jokes, and she laughs, still blushing, but at least now knowing why.

The conversation turns to Juliet’s dietary habits and marital plans and it’s not the first time Rory’s heard it but it is the first time she hears it in Jess’s presence and it makes her… uncomfortable. She glances in his direction but he seems to take it in his stride, with a small, cool smile on his lips. 

“My god, that is brilliant.” Finn states.

“That is sick!” Rosemary goes.

“I agree with anything Rosemary says tonight.” Colin says.

“I’m not going home with you, Colin.” Rosemary sing-songs, glancing at Jess, and Rory resists an impulse to move closer to him.

To her relief the conversation moves on to new subjects. Logan refills her glass and Jess’s too and he thanks him. He politely participates in the conversation asking about Zugerberg and listening to Colin's rallying explanation.

“Living in Switzerland sounds exciting.” Rory says. “I’d miss my mom though.”

That sets Colin off on another tirade of course, and Jess actually chuckles at some of it, asking him follow ups and listening to Logan talk about his year in Andover. When Logan and Colin trade stories about their experience with the cherry charge, Rory and Jess exchange a look and Rory finds herself certain all of a sudden that he would’ve traded living with Liz for a boarding school any day of the week if he had the funds. Wealth is wasted on the wealthy, the treacherous thought is in her head before she can stop it. Jess empties his glass and Logan refills it for the third time.

“But you didn’t actually go to high school together?” He asks while he pours and both Rory and Jess turn their faces to him. “I mean, Rory went to Chilton.” He clarifies.

“No.” Jess answers. “I attended Stars Hollow High.”

“High end!” Colin jokes.

“Better than I deserved.” Jess says, and takes a swig of his drink.

Rory’s not fond of the direction the conversation has taken, for several reasons, the least urgent but somehow most important one being her own failed investment in his education. As long as it might have taken her to forgive him for leaving she’s starting to think he still hasn’t forgiven himself.

“Jess is being too modest,” she says, shooting him a pointed look before continuing. “And Stars Hollow is a small town, you don’t need to be in the same school to know each other.” She adds.

“Well, I think you can tell that you’ve known each other a long time,” Rosemary says, “but I do get more of a friend vibe from you two.”

“Oh, how would you know anything about that?” Colin objects.

The others burst into laughter. Jess smiles, and leans over to whisper in Rory’s ear:

“Her hand is on my thigh.”

“No!” She gasps.

“I think we’re gonna have to crank this up a notch.” He mumbles.

She responds by leaning her face to his ear while hooking a finger into his collar, and in the corner of her eye she catches Logan watching her, them.

“Follow me after ten seconds with the worst excuse you can muster,” she says.

She stands and smiles secretively, ignoring Logan’s eyes and somewhat frozen smile.

“Excuse me.” She mumbles and heads toward the restrooms.

She takes a seat on a padded bench outside the bathrooms in the foyer. He appears in the doorway more or less ten seconds later. He leans on the frame and smiles at her, shaking his head.

“Rory Gilmore, queen of scams, that was some sophisticated shit.”

She chuckles.

“What excuse did you come up with?” She asks.

“None.” He shrugs. “I just finished my drink and left. You gotta keep it simple.”

She smiles.

“If I’m a queen then maybe you’re a king.” 

“Nah, just an artful dodger.”

Her heart skips a beat at the reference. He sits down next to her. The space is more or less empty, chinese folk music runs lowly from the speakers mounted on the walls and the voices of the guests in the dining room trickle in to where they’re sitting. 

“So what now?” He asks.

“We hang out here for a little while, long enough to-” She stops herself and blushes.

“Got it.” He leans back into his seat.

On the wall in front of them is a gigantic painting framed by twinkly lights depicting a landscape in which light effects make the water flow and the sky flare. She looks at it and then at him, the moving light reflecting in his eyes.

“You’d think I do stuff like this all the time.” She says, unsure what she’s going for. “My mom and grandma taught me.” She adds. ”How to handle people, play the game.”

He nods, letting his eyes rest on her face with a little smile. It’s obvious he’s had more to drink than he usually has, around her that is. She clears her throat.

“So, it’s official, you’re a catch.”

His eyes narrow a little, without him breaking his smile or looking away from her.

“From how Rosemary went on.” She clarifies.

His mouth shapes an o, and he nods slightly. She goes on.

“And you’re lucky all that food was around otherwise you’d have Juliet all over you too.”

He chuckles.

“I suppose I’m her type, right? Judging from her plan.”

“Right.” Rory says, suddenly a bit nauseous.

“And that would make me the opposite of a catch, generally speaking.” He goes on, still smiling, soft expression. “I’m just acting shiny, Ror, you’re the catch.” He gestures, palms up. “Just tonight you’ve had two princes angling for your attention, not that I’m surprised.”

“You are a catch.” She objects.

He smiles broadly.

“Oh yeah? Name one thing I got going for me.”

“You mean besides your Austenesque looks?”

He laughs.

“Yeah.”

“Certainly not your Spin Doctors references.”

There’s another fit of laughter from him, and he leans the back of his head against the wall until it subsides. She considers digging up actual things he has going for him, to do inventory, read them back to him, but she feels… unsteady, blurred around her edges and he interrupts her inner process anyway.

“Hey, should we, like do something to our clothes and hair to make it seem like-?”

“Good idea, your majesty.” She reaches out and lightly ruffles his hair.

“That’s unnecessary,” he smiles, “You only have to think about it sideways for it to go off in all directions at the same time.”

“Well, I like your crazy hair.”

“I guess that’s one thing I got.”

He reaches out and puts his fingers to her scalp bending them a few times.

“That’s not gonna do anything.” She mumbles, cheeks hot.

He closes his fist around her hair for a few seconds, she feels the pull and it’s good. She’d say she just closes her eyes for a second but when she opens them he’s looking at her, smile gone, eyes dark, and she stops breathing.

“I want you to know-” He starts, but stops to clear his throat. “I’m not like this, normally, when I’m with someone, I’m not this stiff and boring, I’m better.”

She can take a breath again, and she smiles at him, a little weakly she thinks, but still.

“Oh, I know.”

His eyes widen slightly, she hurries an explanation. 

“I mean, I’ve seen you with someone, for real, with Shane, remember?”

“That’s not-” He tries, but is interrupted.

Hasty steps approach them and she acts on instinct.

“Kiss me.” She mumbles, at first shocked at how easy the words come, and then at his immediate obedience.

His mouth finds hers before anything else, and she feels one of his hands on her jaw and the other at her waist, where it pulls her firmly toward him. At once she has her hands in his hair, and her chest to his. The steps she heard coming keep on coming, or maybe it’s her heart, she doesn’t open her eyes to find out.

At the renewal there was a staged quality to their kiss, the rules seemed clear. Now she thinks that she’s been wanting another go at it, and the rules are secondary. Her lips are quick to fall slightly open and she feels his tongue run over the slip of skin stuck in his mouth. Maybe it’s his heart too. He gives no indication of listening for anything. He’s had a few drinks, and is maybe trying to prove himself. She is too, that’s how she makes sense of it while she still can. She puts some back into the kiss and allows herself to forget that it’s not real, pretends she’s Shane, and she runs out of breath. She lets herself process how he feels, smells, lets a hand drop to skim the warm skin just inside his collar. 

At the renewal it was all on a surface level, now she struggles with the definition of surface, of inside, and out. Meanwhile she opens her mouth a little wider, her fist tightens in his hair when their tongues touch, and she learns he has a taste, and that it has her all in knots. How is this the first time she gets to experience it? And one thought expands inside her, blacking out everything; You might as well enjoy it. So she does, and any coherent words cease to exist.

Her phone rings, and it’s like waking up. The disorientation causes her to lose her grip on him, like she’s falling off a cliff. She gasps softly and breaks the kiss in the process. The signal is so loud, pretty soon the entire restaurant will yell at her to turn it off. He lets go of her and turns his face to the wall while she roots around her bag for her phone, finally finding it and picking up.

“Marty?”

“Oh hi, Rory.” His voice is light, like he just ran into her in the street.

“What is it?”

“I forgot my keys at your place-”

She exhales while he keeps talking.

“-and unfortunately it’s Saturday and everyone I live with is cooler than me and out partying and can’t or won’t hear their cellphones.”

She has to get out of this conversation.

“I’ll be right there.” She says and ends the call.

She takes her time to put the phone back into the purse to put off having to look at Jess, but he helps her out again and stands up, straightening his clothes, pulling his hands through his hair, she looks up at him, about to make a joke about how he should leave the disheveled look be, but he speaks before she manages it.

“I should take off anyway.” 

She frowns, still disoriented. 

“I’ll drive you.” He adds.

She opens her mouth but that is the exact moment Logan comes sauntering out of the dining room followed by the rest of the group chattering loudly. He stops at the sight of them and his smile broadens. 

“You guys feel like Zydeco music? And don’t worry about the tab, I took care of it.”

“Thanks man,” Jess says, like he does this every day, “but I’m out, early day tomorrow.”

“Oh, no!” Rosemary protests.

“That’s right,” Logan says, “how many jobs was that again?”

Jess gives him the peace-sign as a response and Logan chuckles before turning his eyes to her.

“What about you, Ace?”

“I got to get back. Marty-” She starts, but Logan interrupts.

“Well, let us take you.” 

“What about-?”

“I’ll take the girls, Colin and Finn will take you.”

“But-”

“Look, it makes no sense for Jess to be driving all the way to campus when he’s going north, and the boys need to park the car, then take a cab so they can get good and drunk.”

“Oh-kay…” Rory manages and looks at Jess who just smiles tiredly and shakes his head.

“Don’t overthink it, Gilmore.” Finn says and starts ushering her toward the door.

She turns away though, and takes a few steps up to Jess, but not too close.

“Are you okay to drive?” She asks, voice low. “You could sleep in my dorm.”

He makes eye contact this time and smiles at her. 

“It’s fine. I’ll go straight to Stars Hollow, smaller roads.”

“Jess-”

“See you tomorrow.” He leans in and kisses her cheek, and she loses any remaining words.

He gives a little wave at the others and walks out the door, and as she exits it moments later with the rest he drives past them. She gets into Colin’s Alfa Romeo and he drives her back to the dorm, while Finn talks her ear off. They drop her and drive off, tires screeching. She stands alone on the sidewalk for a moment, the night is still. Then she sighs and heads inside. Outside her door there’s a figure huddled on the floor.

“How long have you been here?”

Marty crinkles his face while thinking about it.

“I’d say one and a half Duck Soup.”

“Marty!” She picks out her cellphone and looks at the screen to see if she’s missed anything. “Why did you wait so long to call me?”

She takes out her key and unlocks the door while Marty uses the wall to push himself to standing and clumsily enters the apartment. He checks the snack containers in the kitchen before looking around the couch table, swearing loudly. Rory slips out of her jacket. Marty falls to his knees and sticks his arm down the couch behind the cushions rummaging around before finally extracting his keys with a triumphant sound.

“Listen Marty, I’m sorry about tonight,” she starts while he stands up and brushes dust off his knees, “I said it was just gonna be the two of us and then it became three and then Logan-”

He gestures at her and she falls quiet.

“Rory, it’s fine, good even, because it forced me to think about stuff I would’ve kept avoiding otherwise.”

She feels frozen, just stares at him. He tilts his head.

“Aren’t you gonna ask ‘like what’?”

She doesn’t want to, but still obediently echoes the words.

“Like the fact that I like you, more than just like a friend.”

She’s cold from the recognition, and him saying the actual, useless words. He keeps talking.

“And I know you’re with Logan, but I just-” He takes a breath. “-Needed to say it.”

She shivers, and then she’s angry. He didn’t need to say it, he was just too lazy to hold onto it like a normal person.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to say anything.”

That’s right, I don’t, she thinks, and stays stubbornly silent, even when part of her, a big part urges her to stop him from leaving, to beg him to still be her friend. She clenches her jaw around it, sick of the little sad, soft version of herself she sees everytime she looks in the mirror. It’s too late anyhow.

He leaves. She goes to bed and lies there with an aching chest. She’s just about to pick up her phone and call Jess, to make sure he got home alright, when there’s a knock at the window. She registers the sound and her heart starts pounding wildly, and she gets up and hurries over, pulling the curtains apart to find Logan outside. She smiles, automatically, but can’t for the life of her make sense of what she’s feeling as she opens the window; a sinking feeling, bitter. He climbs inside.

“Just wanted to make sure you got home okay.” He says when he’s closing the window behind him. “The boys drop you off alright?”

“As you can see.” She holds out her arms.

“I wasn’t sure if I’d find you in here alone or not.”

She frowns slightly while his words sink in, so that’s what that little logistic maneuver at the restaurant was about, she should have- would have known if she hadn’t been so dazed at the time.

“And still you knocked on the window, bold.” She smiles a little to herself.

He steps closer.

“So I’ve been told.”

“What would you have done if I wasn’t alone in here?” She tries making eye contact but he just stares at her mouth.

“I didn’t get that far planning ahead, it’s part of my charm.”

He kisses her, harder than he usually does, obviously off in some specific corner of his own mind, but she isn’t there with him. She twists slowly from his grip. 

“Well, thanks for the concern, I appreciate it.” 

What is she doing? They haven’t slept together for over two weeks, she’s missed him, and he’s apparently missed her.

“It wasn’t all concern.”

He takes a step after her, trapping her between him and her bed. She looks at him and tries to read him, it’s difficult, as ever, his face blank, friendly, all the intensity is in his body, his hands stroking her arms up and down. She usually has problems deciphering Jess, but she’s starting to think Logan might be better at poker than any one of them.

“Are you jealous?” She asks, surprised by the sudden thought as well as her own words.

His smile widens.

“Should I be?”

Part of her wants to say yes. To know how he would react, if he’s capable of it. To keep pretending that it’s real. But both reasons are dark and obscure and she doesn’t recognise them as her own, so instead she says:

“No.”

His eyes glimmer from something unidentified as he shakes his head and smiles wider.

“See, I knew you were a good girl.” He kisses her again and she tilts her head away from him once more.

“I’m not a good girl, Logan.” She says, as crisply as she can manage. “Me and Jess, we’re pretending to date.”

He frowns. She goes on.

“We’re lying to people, my grandmother, more specifically. I told you the truth when you first asked, you just didn’t believe it.”

He actually looks surprised.

“This charade is just for Emily’s benefit?”

“He needed me to get out of a jam too, the benefit is mutual.” She says. 

“But what about tonight?”

She shrugs.

“Rosemary was being handsy.”

He chuckles. She goes on.

“But it’s for your benefit too. It takes the spotlight off you, I won’t have the scarecrow effect on the birds, as Finn would say.”

He laughs.

“Guess I’m the one who should be thanking you for the concern then.”

What is this feeling? What is it? She forces a smile.

“Yes, you are.”

“I missed you, Ace.”

It doesn’t matter, she swallows it down.

“Dito.”

Later, they’re in bed, and Logan has fallen asleep next to her, but she can’t. She thinks about Jess and wants to call him despite it being too late, too early, to make sure he’s okay, and she thinks about Marty’s confession and the knock at the door, the window, and a phrase repeats in her head, eventually rocking her to sleep: Why is it never who she wants it to be?

Sunday comes and they wake up late. Logan sneaks back out of the window. She has a pop-tart and drives to Stars Hollow. She arrives in the middle of lunch which is busy today. Lane is moving at the speed of light and talks a mile a minute as she takes Rory’s and three other’s orders at the same time, Jess barely has time for a wave from the kitchen where he might have placed himself for the sake of his mental health. Then, at about three it all dies down and goes quiet and cozy. Lane goes home and Jess and Rory pick out a table to sit at. He puts on The Buzzcocks and leans his head in his arms. She’s supposed to read Blackburn, but looks at his hair instead, his arms, his neck, and feels calm.

The door chimes and Jess looks up, quirks his mouth into a smile, and raises his hand in a little wave. Rory turns and sees a slightly pink Lindsey Lister pass them whispering together with her mother. There’s a pinch in her tummy.

“You know Lindsey?”

He smiles.

“I’ve seen her around. She seems alright.” He gets up to take their orders. “Terrible taste in men though.” He adds behind his hand.

She laughs.

He gets back after having gotten the Listers coffee and danish, and leans his head back in his arms. Rory pokes him with her index finger.

“Hey, don’t sleep! Tell me what you learned!”

He doesn’t lift his head but she can see his mouth tightening in a smile.

“And nothing about the Marx Brothers or boarding schools in Switzerland!”

He lifts his head onto his hands and looks at her absently while he chews on his lower lip.

“Okay, I learned that you have got to put your clothes in water, like, immediately after spilling tomato sauce on them-”

She starts laughing, and catches Lindsey and her mom looking at her at the sound.

“-otherwise that shit is staying there forever.”

“Oh no!” She manages, feeling stupid for laughing at something so simple, but being unable to stop.

“I’ll just dye ‘em,” he says, taking a sip of his coffee, “nothing beats black. What have you- what are you reading?” He reaches and turns over her book.

“‘Being good’.” She says anyway.

He smiles, and she smiles back, like they’re talking without words, and maybe they are, maybe that’s why she’s happy without knowing why.

“Well, I should go.” She says. “I wanna stop by mom before going back to Yale. See how the week went, how Fiddler on the Roof turned out.”

“Let me know if anything’s different.”

She nods, gets up and gathers her things. He clears away their cups and comes back, standing and waiting for her. She slips into her coat and hangs her bag over a shoulder.

“Hey.” 

Jess puts his arms around her, and she twitches in surprise. So far any physical contact between them has felt fitted to specific contexts, and anything else, like the pecking, born from accidents. Maybe this is just another case of fiction spilling over onto reality. Not that she’s complaining, it’s just that they haven’t been the hugging kind of friends, at least not before these few crazy weeks. But now she can’t think why, and quickly puts her arms around his waist squeezing back, leaning her head on his shoulder, breathing him in. It’s funny how she’s able to experience two very different feelings at the same time; the calm, safe feeling of being held by her friend, who knows her better than anyone, save a few too intimate secrets, and the newness of getting to hold the guy she’s been into for years, no use denying it when her heart tries exiting through her ribcage. That last feeling though, it definitely qualifies as too intimate a secret. 

He releases her and it seems too soon, but she wraps her scarf around her neck, and readies to leave. Jess follows her to the door and she catches him sending a deliberate look at Lindsey who hunkers slightly in her seat. She frowns. Maybe the hug was another show of sorts, even if she can’t figure out its purpose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Known by the sobriquet of the artful dodger.” - Charles Dickens


	7. Coulda Woulda Shoulda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously on Gilmore Girls: Good god, handling the exes and current whatnots in this story is like playing whack-a-mole; Spilled tomato sauce almost caused a fight, Rory received an unwanted profession of love, and Logan found out the truth about her charade. Our girl definitely has too much on her plate, and none of it seems to be what she ordered. But about that; she and Jess kissed again, it kinda seemed like she was looking for an excuse, and enjoyed it in the process. And like there’s not enough to deal with the Gilmores are coming back from their second honeymoon! Well, I guess we better get started, this mess won’t untangle itself.

_March, 2005_

_Rory_

Nothing is different with her mother and Luke. When she asks about Fiddler on the Roof all she gets is rallying descriptions of Kirk’s method acting and laments about how crazy everything is. When she asks directly about Luke Lorelai answers briefly that they’ve both been super busy and haven’t really had time to talk properly for like a week, maybe more, and it feels like panic, it really does. But she can’t do anything about it, and so tucks it into the ever expanding space inside reserved for explosives. 

The week passes and she’s forced to face the fact that she’s out of money. Under normal circumstances she drops a hint with her grandparents that she’s running low and a well endowed sum usually appears in her account a day or so later. But now... 

They’re back from their honeymoon on Wednesday and Emily calls her to confirm Friday Night Dinner. She just agrees to everything her grandmother says and hangs up without mentioning the money. Instead she makes plans to spend spring break in Stars Hollow, she can get a job there, or work a few shifts at the Dragonfly. 

She uses the last of her cash which means handling more coins than she’s used to, and that in turn leads to an embarrassing sequence by the coffee cart on Friday morning. 

Luckily Logan shows up and rescues her. She gets her coffee and they step off to the side. It’s a beautiful spring morning and the sunshine actually warms her. Logan puts an arm around her shoulders.

“I stopped by the paper to see you, does Doyle ever leave that place?”

She laughs dryly.

“Unfortunately yes, considering all the time I’ve had to see him in pyjama pants lately.” She takes a greedy gulp from her coffee cup.

“You weren’t there.”

She swallows the still too hot drink.

“Where?”

“At the paper. “

“I don’t spend all my time there either, if I did how would I have time to witness Doyle in pyjama-pants?” She says. 

“Where were you?” He asks, softer than he usually sounds, like he is trying to pet a kitten.

“Obviously excavating my room for any left over change.” She rattles the coins left in her pocket.

He puts his other hand on her and she automatically scans the space for anyone they know.

“I seem to miss you lately.” He mumbles.

She turns her body from his grip and tilts her head at him.

“And yet you’re off skiing.”

“It’s tradition.” He says with a smile, before adding: “I could come back early.”

“Don’t do that on my account, I'm spending some time with my mom, also, I’m broke.”

He holds out his hands.

“How is that a problem?” He gestures at the cart. “Did you see what I did with the coffee just now?”

She smiles.

“I have to get a job and work for my own money, dufus.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Logan!” She protests, putting a hand on his arm. “Just enjoy your vacation. I’ll obviously still be here when you get back.”

He sighs, but smiles back.

“Fine.” He points his thumb over his shoulder. “I was gonna pull you into that corner and make out with you.”

She lowers her voice some.

“People would see.”

“I don’t care if people see.”

She takes a breath and makes sure it doesn’t turn into a sigh.

“Well, I don’t care to be seen as the latest in your line of conquests, plus, aren’t you scared one of your professors will rope you into another midterm if you stick around here too long?”

He grins.

“Already done with the ones I couldn’t get out of, just have one last paper on ethics to drop off.” He pulls up the top inch of a sheet of paper from his bag to show her, and she automatically reaches for it.

“Can I read it?”

He turns the bag away from her.

“I’ve seen you with coins, how do you think you’ll do with multiple papers?”

“Multiple?”

“And remember Hemingway?”

Her arm drops.

“What about Hemingway?”

“Trusted that wife of his with the only copy he had of the novel he was working on. The silly woman lost it.”

She places one hand at her hips, but keeps the other one free, she’ll need it.

“Hold up, are you comparing yourself to Hemingway? And me to his wife?” She points first at him, then to herself. “And calling her a silly woman? Also, that anecdote is just a misogynistic myth: Hemingway’s manuscripts were stolen. “

He stares at her, his trademark smirk on his face while slowly shaking his head. 

“Nice use of the passive voice there, Ace.”

“No, they were stolen,“ she insists, holding up both her hands in defense when he snorts, and raises her voice again. “Now if you really tried I’m sure you could say that because it was her suitcase she lost it. But I wouldn’t.” She smiles widely. “So, whenever you’re ready to apologise to Hadley Richardson and the entirety of womankind the corner will still be there.“ She gestures in the direction of the nook. 

He raises his wrist and points to where a wristwatch would go.

“Would you look at the time?”

“Call me?” She jokes.

“Whenever I get over this verbal bludgeoning I’ll think about it.”

“Bye.” She laughs.

“Bye.” He walks off.

She finishes her coffee, turns in her last paper, contemplates having lunch with Paris but decides against it to save her money. Instead she loads up her laundry bags and drives home.

Her mother, knowing she was coming has loaded up the machine with one pair of socks and relishes her daughter’s annoyance, clearly Luke hasn’t been around enough.

“You don’t have any plans of seeing Luke?” Rory sighs.

Lorelai’s mischievous smile fades.

“Not yet.” 

“Mom.”

“What can I do?” Lorelai gestures.

“You could ask him.” Rory suggests. “You could tell him. There are two of you in this relationship. Tell him you wanna talk.”

“But I don’t wanna talk.”

“You always wanna talk.”

“What I want is for things to be normal again, or better yet, a time machine to go back and do what I should have at the renewal in the first place; pretend to have gotten into a car accident, or the traffic jam from hell, or taken hostage by terrorists, or you know, stuck at work, or, to make those same excuses for Luke!” Her voice gets more agitated as she speaks. “How could I take him to that thing? What was I thinking?”

Rory sighs.

“You were thinking the best of grandma.”

“What was I thinking?” Lorelai repeats.

Rory chuckles a little, bitterly.

“But enough about that.” Lorelai says. “I asked around for you: The radio station needs someone to drive up the hill a couple of times a day and shoo the cows away from the transmitter-”

“But then what will Kirk do?”

“The road crew needs a part-time ‘Slow Down’ sign holder-upper. You get to wear a helmet. But knowing your history with heavy machinery you’ll probably end up causing more accidents than preventing them-”

Rory sticks out her tongue at her. 

“-and Andrew needs help doing inventory at the bookstore.”

“That’s the one.”

“Go call him!”

She does, and sets up her starting the next day. Lorelai finishes her socks and Rory has time to do one load, hang it, and reload the machine before she has to head off to Hartford. Lorelai doesn’t go too hard on her over it, since it’s probably just a sad reminder of the state of things. 

Rory doesn’t really have a strategy, which she realises is completely insane about one minute into her visit, since she can’t even look at her grandma without a fuse lighting in her. Any possibility of the cool, professional, detached demeanor she imagined for herself is out the window and it takes all her will power to keep the lid on her anger. 

She acts friendly toward her grandpa, but doesn't really feel it; She doesn’t blame him, despite being aware that he probably would have done what Emily did had he possessed just a bit more of her conniving nature. She can’t dwell on what he’s capable of though, Emily’s actual interference is enough to deal with. 

So there she is, smiling and conversing lightly with Richard while the inside of her screams, words she can’t even make out herself, even if the feelings are pretty clear. And the only thing that offers some sort of relief is when Emily looks at her, cogs turning, as the realization dawns on her that she’s getting the cold shoulder - such a funny expression, it feels red hot. 

Emily tries poking and prodding, even asking about Jess, and is he joining them for dinner anytime soon? That has Rory holding back a cold laugh, but she still answers curtly.

“We haven’t had time to discuss it.” 

But what she really wants to ask is how Emily thinks she’ll ever subject him to their company again, after the renewal, after everything.

Emily asks her if everything is alright, and Richard asks her, and she scares herself answering that everything is fine, and there is nothing going on, because there definitely is and nothing is fine, but she’s so well-bred that a polite note sets the tone, no matter what else may be going on. And even after that, when Emily drops the act and loses her temper Rory still deflects, almost casually. 

But then Emily has to play that old worn card; ‘This is not you, this is your mother’, like Rory can’t possibly possess layers on her own, like she couldn’t be righteously angry for her mother’s sake, or for her own over what’s happened, like it doesn’t concern her, like nothing should. And still it’s just that Emily has the audacity to mention Lorelai that finally tips Rory over.

“Don’t bring up mom.” She bites, and doesn’t recognise her own voice.

Neither does Richard apparently since he picks that point to try to calm them down. His efforts are useless of course, Emily’s a terrier who’s never let anything go her entire life, and by now Rory can’t hold herself back any longer. She’s so unused to this kind of situation, usually shies away from conflict, even when recognising that it is justified. But now it all comes easily, the anger, and everything else she’s felt along with it, the fear, the panic, the deep, fucking loss that’s just been looming over her for weeks now, finally being unearthed.

“We have a contract.”

In an instant Rory is rock instead of magma. Emily has made deals with her before, but making deals and breaking them are two very different things, two very different Emilys. Rory knew it in theory of course, Lorelai has told her and she trusts her mother, but maybe, sort of, takes her with a bit too many grains of salt. Never again. Now she gets to know from experience just how serious Emily is about their contract, and about their parts in it.

“You need to act like you.”

“I am.”

Emily protests but Rory keeps speaking, her words sharp and deliberate now.

“Did you really expect some postcards would make me forget what you did to mom and Luke? Or how you used dad so I can’t even read his emails anymore? Did you think I would forget what you did to me? Or did you think I wouldn’t care?” She stops for breath and her grandparents both seem shook from her outburst, which is probably why she gets to pick it up again without interruption. ”You say you want me to act as myself, but that really makes me wonder who you think I am. Some puppet void of thoughts of my own? Or just yours? Now, I will respect our contract. And I will continue to come every Friday night and eat dinner with you. I won’t guarantee an attitude that will please you. But I will guarantee that it’ll be me showing up, I think it’s time you got to know me.”

Emily stares at her and Rory can’t make out her expression, there’s belligerence, sure, and a hint of surprise, she searches her grandmother’s face until she finds it: fear, just a little, but enough to help her stand up.

“Excuse me.”

She makes her exit with as much grace as her anger and laundry day outfit allows. She drives back and it takes her getting halfway to Stars Hollow before her heartbeat slows to a normal rhythm. 

The rest of the drive she’s deep in thought. She thinks about this part of her, just now emerging, about what she’s really capable of, handling her personal life like business, holding up her end of a bargain despite being personally wounded. And she thinks about Logan, who’s further down this road than she is, handling his family with sort of a cool politeness. Is that where she’s heading? And she thinks about Jess, who doesn’t have to do any of that, wonders if he would if it came down to it, or if he would just check out, since he’s free to. 

The next morning Rory arrives at the bookstore. Andrew shows her to the shelves in the back, hands her the lists and vaguely addresses her salary, more than she expected, and hours, as long as it takes. 

She works until one-thirty and then heads to Luke’s for a late lunch. The place is past its lunch rush but would normally have guests at every table. Now there’s only three tables occupied. She looks for Luke without finding him. Instead Lane emerges from behind the curtain.

“Hi!”

“Hi.” Rory answers. “Hey, where’s Luke?”

“Oh, he was not fit for public consumption so I put him on kitchen duty.” Lane answers matter-of-factly.

“Not fit?”

“Not a little bit. He almost threw some guy out for complaining about his eggs.”

“Yikes.”

“Yeah. You want a burger?”

“Yes please.” Rory takes a seat by the edge of the counter.

Lane places the order, the burger comes in and Rory takes a bite, then fumbles for a napkin to spit it into.

“This isn’t fit for consumption either!”

“Sorry.” Lane holds out a plate of pastries. “Donut? They’re not from around here.”

“Probably safer.” Rory sighs and takes one. “What’s going on?”

“I should probably ask you.” Lane tilts her head.

Rory takes a big bite to buy herself time to think. 

“I gotta call Jess.” She mumbles mid-chew.

“Better take it outside,” Lane says, gesturing to the sign, “nobody’s safe these days, not even you.”

Rory slides off the stool and heads outside, she sits down on the steps and picks up her phone.

“I’m at work, what’s up?” His tone is curt, he’s busy.

She takes a breath to start talking but finds it’s too much, too little.

“Rory?”

She decides against doing this now.

“It doesn’t matter, go back to work, we’ll talk later.”

“Chris! I’m taking my break.” There’s a shuffle and then his voice crackles through, closer, like his mouth is right on the speaker. “Talk.”

“You don’t have to-” She starts.

”He’s moving out on Monday, this is his last shift, might as well make it count.”

She chuckles, then gets serious, leans her lips to the lower end of the phone, to be able to whisper.

“Luke’s burger tastes awful.”

There’s a sigh on the other end. And suddenly no more words push to get out, she sits there in silence, listening to him just being there, breathing, on the other end. 

“You’re home for spring break?” He asks.

“One time in Daytona Beach was enough.”

There’s a chuckle and she instantly feels better.

“Also I’m broke. I got a job at the Bookstore.”

“Really?” 

“Yeah, so far it’s costing me more than I’m earning.”

He laughs.

“I can relate.”

“And it’s taking me forever,” she goes on, “‘cause I keep reading all the backs.”

“I hope you’re paid by the hour then.” His smile is audible.

“I am.”

“I wish I had your luck.”

“And I can’t decide what would be more masochistic; not reading the backs at all or the fact that I took this job in the first place.” She pauses. ”I should’ve just gone with shooing off cows.”

“The radio gig? But then how would Kirk make a living?”

Her time to laugh. She takes a bite of her donut and gets serious again.

“I’m sitting outside Luke’s and eating a donut for lunch and-” She breathes. “-I don’t know what to do. I’m not even sure it’s bad news that his cooking and people skills are plummeting.”

“I’ll be there tomorrow.” His words are slow, reassuring, and she kind of hates that he can make her feel it. “I’ll talk to him.”

“That’s partly why I called.” She says. “ But I can’t make it to the diner tomorrow, I gotta work. And I feel so stupid, this isn’t your problem.” She clutches the phone. “You could be off in Philadelphia and instead-.”

“If you're allowed to worry about Lorelai I’m allowed to worry about Luke.” He interrupts. “And I wasn’t going to Philadelphia anyway.”

It’s not the right time to ask, but she does anyway.

“Why?”

He sighs.

“Too complicated for a five minute break.”

Rory bites her lip.

“So I guess I won’t see you tomorrow.” He says.

“Doesn’t seem like it.” She finds it strangely hard to sound chipper.

“Well, we’ll be in the same town, I’ve no doubt you can vibrate your good morale through some sort of short wave frequency.”

She laughs, not because it’s funny but because it actually comforts her to think about it like that.

“I’ll be a block over broadcasting good thoughts.” She says.

“I’ll tune in to you tomorrow then.”

“Do that.”

“Bye.”

She finishes the call but keeps the phone in her hand until she’s finished her donut, then she goes back inside for coffee. She’s home late and Lorelai tells her about patching things up with Richard. At least some things move in some kind of positive direction. She thinks that for about five minutes before Lane calls her in a fit and fills her in on the fact that apparently she was subconsciously saving herself for marriage. Rory falls asleep hard that night.

The day after she gets a pretty efficient start but Lane joins her to vent about her situation, and it’s hard to attentively listen while doing inventory.

“A lot of people wait until they get married.” She tries.

“Like who? Donna from 90210? Get real.”

“I can think of a few others, non-fictional even.”

“Yeah, but why do they do it? Religious indoctrination!” Lane gestures vividly. “I should know. God, this blows! What if I never get married? If I never get married I’ll never have sex!”

Rory keeps herself from smiling too widely.

“You’ll get married. You’ll have sex.” 

“You don’t know that.”

“No, but I’m pretty sure.”

“That’s easy for you to say.” Lane’s voice gets shrill. “You’ve already had sex. With two different guys. All within a one year period.”

Rory stops smiling.

“Two years.” She remarks. “And would you keep your voice down if you’re insisting on making me sound slutty?”

“Why should I have to?” Lane asks, waving her hands in the air. “It is your right to be as slutty as you want!” She leans closer and actually lowers her voice, perhaps accidentally. “Is it great? Sex?

“Not all of it.” Rory mumbles.

Lane doesn’t register her answer, but dramatically leans back.

“Of course it is!”

Rory puts down the book she’s holding.

“I’m not saying this to cater to your decision-”

“Is it truly a decision if it stems from being brainwashed?” Lane wails.

“I’m not saying it to justify whatever this is.” Rory pauses briefly, because she sort of is saying this to make Lane feel better, but unfortunately it doesn’t make it less true. “It can be awkward, and painful, or just feel plain wrong! That’s also a reason to wait; to be really sure about the person, the yes.”

The words hurt coming out, but she forces them, and refuses to think about the countdown party almost two years ago, which of course means she does anyway: 

All the seniors of Stars Hollow High had a big thing to celebrate the upcoming graduation season and she was there with Lane and Dean. She met a lot of people she used to know, and some she did know for real; She and Jess weren’t really in a position at the time to hang out in public, but she waved at him and he at her, before he got dragged off by Shane. 

A couple of hours later there were fireworks and everybody was significantly tanked. Unfortunately she never could make alcohol an agent to feel like she belonged anywhere so she wandered off when the kids from her old school started howling their song. She wanted to take a look at the Independence Inn, she hadn’t dared since the fire. 

She arrived at the bridge where she and Lorelai stood at Sookie’s wedding, and so many other times, and looked at the black husk of the old building where she grew up. She felt like it for no apparent reason, like she was looking at herself. 

It was then she jerked at a sound, someone crying? No, someone moaning, and at once she couldn’t not see them, on the other side of the water, by an overgrown bush, on a blanket: Jess and Shane. Him between her bare legs and his hand between the two of them, touching her or unbuttoning his jeans. Rory wasn’t experienced enough to tell. She pressed her lips together to not make a sound, it would’ve been a whimper, from the most mixed up of feelings. It took her several moments to get herself together enough to leave, quietly, and during that time she couldn’t tear her eyes from them. She finally snuck back to Dean, and when he kissed her she let it go further than she ever had publicly. 

She went home that night, tried to fall asleep but kept seeing the couple on the blanket behind her eyelids, and tried to make herself sick over it but couldn’t. Because it was him. She knew him. They tried meeting once a week for the tutoring he didn’t really need, but it was the only excuse everyone seemed fine with. She knew his eyes on her, his face, his tired smiles when she talked about school being important, his hands pouring coffee, playing with a pen. His body crunched over a table in exhaustion after going to school, working all afternoon and meeting her for the rest of the night. His body. Him. And that was him on the blanket too, and it made her feel sad, but not bad. 

Ten days later he was gone. But anyway, she refuses to think about that. She won’t.

“Well, what made you decide to sleep with Dean?”

She blinks at Lane’s question and she’s on fire, that’s what it feels like. Fortunately her friend has no time for her inner turmoil.

“And awkward? Painful? Is that how it’s been for you?” Lane looks concerned.

Rory forces a light tone and a little smile.

“Sure, on occasion.”

“And you think you could’ve avoided that by waiting?” Lane squints at her.

Rory stifles a sigh, shrugs.

“I don’t know, Lane. I guess I’ll find out once you get married, once you’re sure.” She picks the book back up. “You’ll have to report back to me.” She smiles again, it’s easier this time.

Lane pouts, but leaves it.

It’s past five before she lets it go for the day, earlier than she planned to and she’s still not done, but her head won’t stay quiet after the conversation with Lane. She should never have brought it up, or, no, that’s no good since Lane is her best friend; She should have told her all of this, all of it, sooner. Now Lane doesn’t know what she’s stepping on. 

Rory takes a relieved breath when climbing the porch, entering the house and hearing popcorn popping in the microwave and Lorelai actually humming to herself. As soon as they’re in the same room together Lorelai stops humming and starts talking instead and Rory gets to drop every intrusive thought. They pick out all their favorite snacks and prepare the living room for the soap marathon. Lorelai pushes play but doesn't stop talking.

“So, how is the neverending game of charades coming along?” She smiles viciously.

“You mean Jess.”

“I mean Jess.”

Rory leans over the table and prudently fills her hand up with popcorn, one by one.

“It’s not neverending, I just ask him for favors when I need them.”

“And he naturally says yes.”

“He doesn’t have anything better to do.” Rory shrugs.

“Wow.”

“It’s what he says himself.” Her defensive gesturing makes her drop a couple of popcorns.

Lorelai’s eyes twinkle.

“Well, are you at least enjoying yourselves?”

Rory blushes.

“It’s complicated, but he’s doing surprisingly well.”

Lorelai snorts.

“It’s easy to behave when you’re just pretending to.” She mutters, before clearing her throat. “So, feel like giving that answer of yours another go?”

“What answer?” 

“On why you asked him for this to begin with.”

Rory picks up her soda, sipping it through a straw, while her response slips out the corner of her mouth.

“Why don’t you answer it for me, you seem to have all sorts of theories sloshing around up there.”

Lorelai gives a sound of indignation.

“I like to give you the actual benefit of a doubt, not put words in your mouth-”

“Oh, you do, do you?” Rory says, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Hey!”

“No.” Rory says firmly. “I’ve answered your question, but that hasn’t cut it, so, give it your best shot.”

Lorelai groans.

“But it’s so obvious! Must I?”

“Yeah, you started this.”

“Fine.” Lorelai says, in a tone that makes Rory instantly regret goading her into this. “You’ve been into him since he got to town-”

Rory automatically opens her mouth to object but Lorelai sharply gestures at her to keep quiet and goes on, voice slightly raised. 

“Not that you’d admit it even if it’s completely obvious and okay, it’s okay to like someone besides your ex boyfriend, emphasis on the ex-”

“I do not like my ex boyfriend!” Rory blurts.

“No shit, Sherlock! All the more reason to just admit that you’re doing this to know what it would be like to be with Jess.”

“By fake-dating him?” Rory does not like how high-pitched her voice sounds.

“You never tried each other out-”

“And would you have liked it if we did? You hate him.”

Lorelai shakes her head, a little too fervently for Rory to not have struck a nerve.

“I do not hate him.” She pauses, regains her edge. “And don’t try to turn this around on me, missy! What I really hate is you making everything so gosh darn difficult for yourself, lying to yourself-”

“Not lying!” Rory protests. “We’re both very aware that it’s fake.”

Lorelai tilts her head.

“No, you’re not. You cried for a week when you read Little Women! Same thing. The brain can’t tell the difference.”

“Beth Marsh is a fictional character. Jess is a real person.”

“That’s the reason we’re having this conversation.” Lorelai answers evenly.

“Who exactly are you protecting here?” Rory mutters.

“Maybe it’s not about protecting someone.” Lorelai smiles. “Maybe I’m just entertaining myself. Maybe I just love being right.”

“I thought you had enough drama in your life without getting into mine.” There’s a pause as the words settle between them. “Sorry,” Rory then adds. 

“It’s okay.” Lorelai says, and then actually stays quiet.

Rory watches the show sneaking glances at her mother. It strikes her that maybe that part about Lorelai just entertaining herself might not have been a lie, and that maybe she’s in desperate need of entertainment. 

Rory hasn’t told her mom about the countdown party, about what really happened with Dean either, and she tells her everything else; Lorelai, like Lane, has no way of safely navigating this terrain. Rory starts giving herself a little pep-talk to finally have the conversation, and actually gets as far as opening her mouth to speak, when there’s a knock at the door.

Rory and Lorelai stare at each other as the door opens, and Luke appears in the hallway, the strangest look on his face. It’s… open. It’s the only word Rory can think of that matches what she’s seeing and she immediately knows that she has to go, right now.

“Lorelai-” He starts.

“Wait!” Rory manages while getting on her feet. “Let me get outta here first.”

She makes her way past Luke, who gives her a look she can’t for the life of her make out, only that it’s soft. She tears her coat off the rack, and shoves her feet into her shoes. She looks back at her mother, but Lorelai’s gaze is stuck at Luke. Rory stumbles out the front door, and closes it behind her. Part of her wants to stay and listen but another can’t wait to get out of there. She goes with the second one and hums to herself while tying her shoes to drown out any sound that might leak from inside. Then she hurries downtown.

* * *

_Jess_

Saturday might have been Chris’s last day at work, but Jess still wound up having plenty to do, for that particular reason; Everything they’d been putting off had to be done. 

And he slept terribly to add insult to injury, since last week he’s had this reoccurring dream in which Rory tells him to kiss her, every inch of him aching to, but seconds turn to days and there’s no time, and another when he’s the one speaking, begging for her lips, while she just smiles, like it’s a joke. All in all it’s worrying.

Then to top it off Luke was at the diner this Sunday morning, again, and had given Caesar the day off, so Jess had nothing to say about an unnecessary trip to Stars Hollow. They worked in grumpy silence for the entire day, and according to Lane he should be grateful for the lack of verbal or physical altercations, but he’s had a terrible time handling it; Chris is leaving, and Luke is fucking up his relationship, and that’s another reason Jess will be stuck here forever, and there’s nothing he can do about it. So, he spent most of the day in the back unpacking every box he could find, reorganising, moving the storing shelves around until he was in pain. 

Then, an hour ago, the door chimed and an older woman’s voice started trickling through the curtain. Emily Gilmore. It only took him a few seconds to recognise it. There was no way he didn’t listen in, she demanded attention, even if all of it wasn’t Luke’s. After it got quiet, Luke appeared in the doorway and a look was all it took before he grabbed his jacket and left. Jess sighed with relief, he might be powerless, but apparently there’s nothing Emily Gilmore can’t do - break a relationship, glue it back together. 

Since then he’s turned the open sign to closed, turned off the lights, turned on Talkie Walkie and is now lying on the floor, flat on his back, in an effort to straighten it out. He’s about a minute into Run when the door chimes. He prepares to tell whoever it is to get lost but lifts his head and sees Rory walk across the floor, feels stupid for not expecting it. 

She stops next to him.

“Why are you on the floor?”

“My back.” He just says, managing a little pained smile. “You couldn’t stay away, huh?”

She sits down next to him, unbuttoning her coat, she’s in brown corduroy pants and a knitted shirt featuring a bunny riding a skateboard, he gets stuck looking at it.

“Well, it suddenly got a little crowded at the house.” She smiles.

“Glad to hear it.” 

They lock eyes and she lies down next to him.

“No, don’t-” He tries.

“What? Don’t you stand by your own mopping?” She chuckles while getting comfortable, her hair spreading out on the linoleum.

“I’m not the only one who works here,” he objects, ”and no.”

She shrugs lying down.

“Oh well, I’m inclined to take my chances tonight.”

He sighs, lightchested. They lie still and listen to the song for a little while.

“Was this your doing?” She asks, tone so soft it sounds like a caress.

“You think he listens to me?” He answers, and adds bitterness to his voice to cover up everything else. “No, your grandmother showed up.”

“Oh.” She says, and there’s a pause while she processes that information, before speaking again. “She wants you to come to Friday Night Dinner.” She then says, and he turns his head to see her.

She looks back at him and there’s a hint of amusement on her face, and another hint of resignation. He sighs, shakes his head.

“It’s getting too complicated isn’t it?” He mumbles.

“Maybe.” She admits.

She bites her lip, and turns her face back toward the ceiling. He takes a deep breath and does the same. The song finishes and there’s a spinning sound as the CD shuffles to the next track. Alone in Kyoto starts playing.

“Can I ask you something?”

“What?” He expects getting asked for some reassurance regarding Luke and Lorelai, but that’s not what he gets.

“Tell me about when you came back from California.” She starts, and he looks at her sharply. 

She turns her face to him too, and it’s like dragging a nail along an exposed nerve. It’s all part of why he’s still here, on his sore back in his uncle’s diner, and willing to do it all over tomorrow again, and the day after that, and so on. Only part of it though. He’s constantly avoiding questions about it, requests he share real parts of himself in all their broken glory. But when it’s her asking for them… He partly dreads it, isn’t that part of why he’s offered up this insane dating service to her? To give her something, even if it’s fake. But he longs for her to ask too. A chance to have her see, with her beautiful eyes. It may be crap, but at least it’s real, and she’ll see the best in it. He swallows the ache, produces a smile and begins speaking, mechanically, from sheer force.

“Turns out the guy who left Liz with a newborn baby wasn't to be counted on for a favor. He insisted he’d be a bad influence, like I could get much worse, y’know?” He closes his eyes, unable to go on otherwise. “After a month, he decided he was out of good will and I-” He takes a slow, deliberate breath to keep his voice steady. “I hated it there anyway, but- I had nowhere to go. I made my way back east, just thinking two hours ahead. Then I-” He manages a dry little chuckle. “It was like I was sleep-walking, and suddenly woke up outside this door.” He opens his eyes and finds hers, blue, serious, locked to his face. “I had to get ready to beg. And before I knew it Luke was on the other side of the glass, and then the door was open, and I don’t know, he just hugged me.” His vision goes blurry at the memory, and he turns his face back to the ceiling to keep from spilling.

“You know how I said that it was irrelevant if you deserved another chance or not?” She says, and his chest aches as he nods. “Well, irrelevant or not, I think you did”.

He lets himself believe her, it feels good even if it’s just for the moment, no one makes him feel good like that. 

“Anyway, I found myself making all the same promises he demanded from me when I came back from New York, only unprompted this time, he just nodded, and somehow, the thought of him not believing me, but acting like he took my word for it-” He shakes his head.

“It made you truly resolved.” She finishes for him and he nods. “Thanks for telling me.” She adds.

“You deserve it.” He mumbles.

She’s twenty years old and full of purpose, too much of it, but maybe that’s why he’s drawn to her, like a moth to a bright light, because he feels like his only purpose is just not to leave again, Luke, or her.

They lie still. He breathes, and imagines he’s feeling a bit easier from telling her. He’s suddenly able to register his back ache again. He reaches back and pinches his fingers around his neck with a creaking sound emerging from his throat. In the corner of his eye he sees her squinting at him, lips slightly parted.

“Sit up,” she says, tone suddenly firm and cheery.

“Why?”

How is she able to tilt her head lying down? She does.

“Don’t I look trustworthy?”

He laughs quietly and sits up. She gets on her knees and gestures at him.

“Cross your legs.”

He does as he’s told and she places herself behind him, her hands on his shoulders, squeezing them. He gives an audible breath and turns it into a laugh of disbelief with his following words.

“You’re giving me a massage?”

“I’m good at it.” She says, sounding a bit offended. “You think you grow up in a two woman household and don’t learn how to do this?”

“I wouldn’t know anything about that.”

She’s quiet and leans some of her weight onto him as she pinches her hands around his tendons. He groans despite trying not to. Such a strange way of touching someone, inflicting a certain kind of pain to make another kind go away. She leans her body onto his back and a shiver runs through him. She puts one hand around his chin and squeezes her other around the back of his neck. He gasps, and can’t just let the sound be there, it’s too naked, so he forces out some words.

“I’ll still do it.” Apparently it’s no good talking just to say something in this state.

“Do what?”

“Come to Friday Night Dinner.” Apparently anything can come out.

He feels the breath from her laugh on his ear, and swallows.

“You’re a good guy, Jess Mariano. But you don’t have to say that just ‘cause I’m putting the squeeze on you.” 

“Ha-ha.” He says, his voice altered from the sensation of her hands. “But yeah, do this to me once a week I’ll sit through all the Friday Night Dinners you need me for.”

It sounds like a joke but he means every word. 

“I didn’t know I was that good.” 

She rubs her thumbs in small circles along his spine and he clenches his jaw to hold back more embarrassing sounds.

”Or maybe you’re a bit of a masochist.” She teases.

His body rocks slightly at her applied pressure as she works her way down to his lower back. God, please make it stop, or never let it stop. He reaches back and grabs one of her hands in a fit of desperation and places it back on his shoulder. She makes no comment but goes back to rubbing his muscles there. The warmth radiating off her, her scent, he has to speak, it’s his only acceptable expression. He goes for a chuckle and something like a joke.

“Let’s just say I have a whole new level of respect for that ex-boyfriend of yours now.” 

He feels her tense and fall out of her rhythm.

“Please don’t mention him.” Her voice is quiet.

“Sorry.” His excuse is automatic.

She puts some weight back into the massage. He thinks about Doose’s the other day, about Dean’s hatred, about Rory’s little pause when she told him they’d broken up in the car last spring, what seems like an eternity ago but still so fresh in his memory.

“What happened with the two of you?” Apparently anything can come out.

“Don’t say the two of us.” There’s a plea in her voice.

He reaches back and takes her hand again, but just holds onto it this time.

“Sorry, but Rory-”

“We slept together.”

He’s been punched a few times, this feels exactly like that.

“Oh.”

Her fingers close around his hand, as if to hold it in place, her thumb rubbing his knuckles.

“I wasn’t planning to but then I changed my mind and, you know, went through the proper channels-” she rambles but has to pause for a breath.

He’s suddenly convinced the only reason she’s telling him is because he has his back to her, and he’s grateful for it too, that she can’t see his face.

“-Told my mom I was planning on it, got contraceptives, he and I had a nice date before and then-” She stops and clenches her fingers around his, and he can’t breathe. “I changed my mind again-” She exhales and he can’t for the life of him tell if it’s a laugh or a sob, he instinctively squeezes her hand back while she goes on talking.” -like, before it was even over and after I just felt-” she takes an audible breath, “-regret.”

“I’m sorry.” He says, this he really is sorry for.

There’s a sniffle and he wants to turn around, but is too scared to.

“I would’ve told you about it sooner but it was around the same time you skipped town, like, the exact night actually.” 

“Oh.” Is that stupid word, not even a word, really the best he can do? 

She goes on.

“I couldn’t bring myself to call you about it so I showed up at the diner and Luke was here and- he told me you were gone.”

“Rory-” He falls quiet because his voice refuses to sound like him, she lets go of his hand and starts rubbing his shoulders again, like they’re done.

“It’s okay,” she says. “We’re way beyond you owing me anything by now.” 

He feels ridiculous for asking but does it anyway. 

“Did you tell Lorelai or Lane about it?”

“Not the details, just the sequence.”

“Well, the sequence makes it seem you broke up with him over-

“I know what it seems like.”

He’s quiet for a few moments while she runs her knuckles down his shoulder blades. He’s too distracted by his thoughts to react to her touch with more than the occasional grimace, and maybe she’s a bit more soft-handed now.

“No wonder you and him aren’t talking.” He says.

“Yeah, well, it’s for the best.” Her tone is light, almost absent and her hands rest still, warm, against his shoulders. “What did you learn this week?”

Stuff I wish I hadn’t, Jess thinks but doesn’t say. Instead he gets up, puts on coffee for them, turning on a few of the lights to help with the balance between them, and tells her about the bioengineering in Oryx and Crake, a book he’s been forced to finish quickly since it is going with Chris to Philadelphia.

“What did you read?” He asks her, once they’re safely perched on a side each of the counter, cups of coffee in front of them.

She chuckles.

“Too much of The Naked and The Dead.”

“At least you got paid for it.”

He keeps it going for as long as he can muster to keep up appearances, but he has an early start of the worst kind waiting for him in Hartford, and everything he’s learned this evening weighs heavier on him than all the carrying he’s been dealing with this entire weekend. 

She takes his cues and slides off the chair and into her coat, getting ready to leave while cracking some joke about climbing into her room through the window. He smiles at it but it comes out bleak, he thinks. She slips into her coat.

“You haven’t told anyone but me.” He says, unable to hold it back. “Why?” 

She stops, hand on the handle, her back to him.

“You know how some people-” she shakes her head slightly, “no, maybe you don’t-”

“Assume I do.”

She turns to him, and he feels his eyes widen at the sight of her face: pale, vulnerable.

“Some people-” she halts and bites her lip, “you need them to sort of witness you, all of you. I don’t know how it happens, but you-” she makes eye contact, “you are that to me.” She shifts her weight and looks at her feet, and when she speaks again it’s as if she’s alone. “I think I realised that that night, when I came to see you, and you had-” she lifts her chin and looks at him again, a little forced smile on her lips. “Anyway I’m sorry that it’s taken me so long to tell you that. And to say that I-” She falls quiet, presses her lips together.

“That you-?” He’s surprised he’s still able to speak.

Her mouth trembles in another awkward smile, and her eyes run over the entire diner before settling on his face again.

“That I love you, Jess.”

He feels his mouth fall open and struggles to close it, to speak, to do anything, but she beats him to it.

“Thank you.” She says.

“For what?” He whispers, the only sound he can manage.

“For seeing me.” 

Silence settles, and she takes a deep breath and rolls her eyes, a wider smile growing on her lips, equal parts embarrassment and relief. Then she raises her hand in a goodbye and he mirrors it, grateful to not need any more words, and she steps out on the street and walks away.

After she’s gone he clenches his jaw while clearing out of the diner. ‘The exact night, actually’, rings in his ears and he turns up the music in his car to drown it out. He drives back to Hartford and brushes his teeth sitting on the bathroom floor so he doesn’t have to look at himself in the mirror.


	8. Fuck Marry Kill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously on Gilmore Girls: I don’t know about you but I sure feel like that was Rory’s week. Sassing off on Logan, standing up to Emily, and working up the courage to come clean about Dean. And Lorelai and Luke made up! Everything seems to be moving in the right direction. Just imagine what it must’ve meant to Jess to hear Rory say that she loved him. The two of them are in such a good place right now. Right...? I’m sure they’re fine. Let’s just- let’s get back to the story.

_ Jess _

The next day starts early with a couple of cars, there to help Chris move, pulling up outside their apartment building. Matthew fills his Volkswagen bug to the brim with cartons of comics, pots, pans and houseplants, while Chris’s parents take the bigger stuff in their van. Jess helps carry things and gets everyone coffee from their favorite place but feels exhausted through the whole event. 

It’s done in just over two hours, and they wind up on the sidewalk outside the building. Chris’s parents wait in the car for their son to take the lead and Matt hands Jess a mockup of a business card for their publishing house as some last attempt before getting in his car. Chris remains standing in silence, weighing between his feet, for too long in Jess’s opinion.

“So…” He says to get things going, to get it over with.

“So.” Chris responds and lifts his head, steadily meeting his eyes.

“You should probably get going, beat the traffic.”

Chris smiles.

“You’re saying I shouldn’t wait?”

“Yeah- I mean no.” Jess shakes his head.

Chris leans in.

“You shouldn’t wait around for too long either.” He says.

Jess looks at him sharply, and Chris steps back again, with his hands up and a disarming smile.

“You know, you can still change your mind.” 

“Chris...” That’s all he gets out.

“We’ll probably put off hiring someone else for a couple of months. Just sayin’.” Chris adds, a bit softer.

He wants to say thank you, but deems his own voice too weak to manage even those two words.

“Anyway, stay in touch, okay?” Chris finishes.

Jess pulls the corner of his mouth up in what’s probably more of a grimace than a smile, and nods. Chris hugs him, his chest hurts, but he still stands on the sidewalk until the cars are out of his sight.

Then he’s in a funk all week. Works for two at the bookstore while Clyde looks for a replacement and takes Chris’s shifts only on paper while mostly doing administration and smoking in the office. Jess goes home and to bed early but wakes up tired anyway, too busy to even think about why. 

On Friday afternoon he looks up to greet a customer as the door chimes, but finds it’s Shane who’s wandered into the shop. He stifles a sigh, surprised at how raw he feels, seeing her. She’s in all black, heavy make-up, she used to call it war-paint. She smiles fooling no one, all sharp edges. He makes sure to keep his face blank, and straightens his back, keeping his eyes on her. 

“Hi.” He says. 

“Hi.” She meets his eyes, gaze steady, defiant.

“Do you need something?”

Her eyes dart around the place and he furrows his brow watching her.

“Where’s Christopher?”

Ah. He bites the inside of his cheek.

“Christian, goes by Chris.” He says. “Gone back to Philadelphia.” He holds back a comment about her missing her window.

“Really?” She says, the first sign of weakness.

“I should know, I suddenly have an apartment to myself.”

Her eyes narrow and he curses himself.

“Huh.” She smiles. “Here I assumed you were shacking up with Miss Ivy League.” 

“Well, you know what happens when you assume.” He mumbles, and looks at the box he’s unpacking longing to get back to it.

“I guess the two of you aren’t that serious if you’re not living together.” Her voice is spiteful, but he knows it’s from desperation, she came here with a plan and didn’t have a back up and has to work with what’s at hand.

Nevertheless, he can’t decide on a strategy and stays quiet too long because of it. She smiles again and takes a few mannered pensive steps toward him.

“Well,” she says while dragging her finger over the books on the shelf she passes before stopping in front of him making eye contact, “let me know if you need a roommate.”

This is how she is, impulsive, reckless, with others and herself, it’s what he liked about her back when, it’s hard to screw up with someone like that, someone who expects you to. But she has her limits, he knows that too. He tried to do this the easy way, but it’s proven too complicated. He braces himself, tilts his head and manages a tiny, cold smile.

“I’ll be sure to give you a call if I get desperate.”

He expects her to flinch, to retreat, but her limits aren’t what he thought. Instead there’s a flash of something new in her eyes, a terrifying recognition; She knows what he can do to her and what she can do to him, and it’s not bad news, it’s just something, anything, happening. She smiles, a wicked, intimate smile.

“Do that.” She purrs, before turning and walking toward the exit.

He stands, frozen, unable to look away. He knows it would be easy for him to get back into it with her, even now he has trouble remembering why he shouldn’t, it’s all too vague, and complex, and all it would take is a run in at the wrong time, or a late night call. He picks up his phone and erases her number, to rule out that option at least. 

Sunday dawns with spring’s first warming rays of sun, and Jess arrives at a spotless diner, with a note from Luke informing him of all the things he’s restocked, even his handwriting looks cheery. That description fits Rory too who shows up early, chirping about the beautiful weather. She squints at him asking how he’s doing, but he casually lies saying he’s coming down with something. Lane shows up minutes later and matches her friend in glee, it’s annoying but practical if you’re trying to hide something, which he is, even if he can’t put his finger on what. 

It’s a slow day, people are out enjoying the sunshine, and the three of them get to sit down together for lunch. He eats more than he usually does to keep his mouth busy. Rory asks Lane how things are between her and Zack and Lane answers in an obviously censored way, glancing his way. Usually he would feel compelled to decipher what’s going on or excuse himself, but he just leans his chin on his hand looking out the window stubbornly chewing on the remaining fries.

“So, the ribbons are a thing of the past,” Lane says, segueing from her blacked-out boyfriend-talk. “Kirk was in here the other day rounding them up.”

“Yes!” Rory smiles broadly and clanks her mug onto Lane’s. “They patched things up.” She sips her coffee. “Which is more than I can say for my mom and my grandparents.” She adds, and rolls her eyes. “You should have seen their faces when I showed up alone on Friday, it was not pretty.” She sips her coffee. ”But at least my mom’s happy, we went shopping for her making-up-with-Luke-date at the cute place yesterday.”

“Oh, the cute place!” Lane gushes.

“Yeah, and the funniest thing happened- or maybe not funny as in ha-ha- more like a bit embarrassing- although I’m not sure that’s the word either-”

“Get to the point!” Lane laughs.

“We saw Logan across the street, like, with a girl.” Rory says.

Jess looks at her and she shoots him a furtive glance.

“No!” Lane exclaims.

“Top three things you don’t want your mom along for, at least.” Rory goes and looks at Jess again.

He keeps his expression level and puts another fry into his mouth, it’s not his place to get involved.

“Are you okay?” Lane asks Rory.

“Yeah.” She tears her gaze from Jess and shrugs. “We’re not exclusive, it was just, really weird explaining that to my mom.”

Lane gives Rory a look that Jess doesn’t possess the energy to interpret, then she sighs and stirs her coffee.

“Hey, mister,” Rory turns to him, “what did you learn this week?”

He smiles apologetically and readies to tell her he’s not up for their game right now, but Lane interrupts.

“Oh! This is your bit!” She smiles. “I want in! This week I learned that Sophie from the music shop composed the music to an album called Sammy the Saxophone! And I used to listen to it when I was a kid! I’m gonna bring it in next week and ask her about it.”

“That’s exciting.” Rory says. “Keep me posted.”

“I will.” 

Rory looks at Jess and he pulls the corner of his mouth further to- he’s not sure why, but Rory smiles back at him then directs her attention to Lane.

“Now you’re supposed to ask me what I read, or Jess, or you could tell us what you read.” She instructs.

“Oh!” Lane smiles widely. “Well…” She taps the table with her fingers thinking. “This week I haven’t read anything but old issues of Rolling Stone and the back of our cereal boxes but I did reread White Line Fever a few weeks back. So awesome.” She adds.

Rory smiles at her, then looks back at Jess.

“We don’t have any rule excluding cereal boxes do we?”

Jess stifles a yawn, smiles and shakes his head.

“Jeez, man!” Rory says, tilting her head. “You should go home.”

“I’m fine.” Jess says, but this time the yawn escapes him.

“She’s right.” Lane says. “Look at this place, I could close up.”

“I’m not ditching you the first time in weeks Luke actually wants me here.” He objects.

“I’ll stay.” Rory says. 

“You?”

“I hope you haven’t forgotten that I covered for you a lot when Luke’s uncle died and you were busy playing Basketball and watching Dream of Jeannie!” She pinches him.

“Hey!”

“Bye.” She waves demonstratively at him.

He tries a firm look, but she raises her eyebrows and looks right back at him and he can’t handle her eyes today. So he takes a deep breath and gives up. 

He drives back to Hartford, and spends the rest of the day in bed. He starts penning an ad for a roommate but he doesn’t get far. This place is by all objective measurements a shithole. It might be shared by a couple, but only the worst kind of people would read an ad accurately describing it and think it seemed like a good deal. The only reason he and Chris even lived here together was because of Clyde knowing the landlord and timing working in or against their favor. 

To make matters worse Liz calls, for the first time in a while, and he always winds up telling her more than he likes to. So she offers him a room in their house, and even if he fervently declines he kind of knows that’s the direction he’s heading. She talks enthusiastically about the house and life with TJ while Jess wonders what happened to her. What made her decide that adequate normalcy was the new black? He doesn’t mind her settling down, but it hurts more than a little that it had to happen so long after it could have made a difference to him. And he wonders why. Did she finally break? Or was it the other way around? Did she realise something, learn something new? He won’t ask her though. Not now, possibly never.

The week starts up like any other with the exception of Clyde closing the shop for an extra half hour over lunch so that Jess can join him interviewing the first applicant for Chris’s job. It’s a young guy with a mohawk, a septum piercing, and hopefully with a highschool degree, who spends the majority of the interview discussing bands with Clyde. Jess zones out and imagines doing this once a year, finding someone new, hiring them, showing them the ropes, watching them move on.

On Tuesday night Rory calls him, making sure he is in fact well, hasn’t fallen ill, and is feeling better, before launching into this week’s problem.

“I was minding my own business when this guy, Robert, a friend of Logan’s, came up to me to invite me to Finn’s party, and I instinctively said no, and he said that he knew for a fact that Logan was taking some girl named Whitney and then he was all salty about me saying no, so I had to come up with this story that someone else was taking me and no, he wouldn’t know who it was, but yeah, Logan would, and it’s not a disaster if you can’t come but it will make into a liar or a reject.”

He laughs on an exhale.

“No pressure.” She adds, smile audible.

He doesn’t want to go, but he hasn’t wanted to do anything for a solid week, so he ignores it. 

“When is it?”

“Oh my god, thank you!”

“Focus, please.”

“Tomorrow night.”

“Middle of the week?”

“Yes grandpa.”

He sighs deeply.

“Text me the address and time.”

“Will do, also-” She pauses, for too long he thinks.

“What?”

“It’s a costume party. Anything Tarantino.”

“Rory-” He starts.

“Thanks for doing this. You’re the best.” She rambles.

He groans.

“See you tomorrow.” She says and hangs up.

The next night he parks by Branford and knocks on her door. She opens and he smiles, the first genuine one he’s managed for days; She’s in her old Chilton uniform, white kneesocks, a red tie, with a rubber flail in one hand.

“Go-Go Yubari, I presume?”

She smiles widely and steps out of her dorm, closing the door behind her. They walk down the hall and she squints at him, he’s in the suit he wore at the renewal.

“I’m a Reservoir Dog.” He clarifies.

Her face lights up in recognition.

“Yeah, you are!” She hooks her arm around his. “Which one?”

He grimaces thinking about it.

“Probably not cool enough to be Mister White,” he starts, “but I’ve always had a soft spot for Mister Orange, so...”

Rory nods, pleased.

“He’s good. No blood?”

“Let’s go with him pre shoot-out.” He says. “No way I’m ruining this shirt for a theme party, I’ll leave that kind of stunt to the rich kids.”

She just smiles at him, and it’s enough to make him feel better. Their fake-dates so far have had pleasant moments, more than pleasant actually, and tonight is hopefully no exception.

Finn’s place is across campus and the common room is insane. Jess has accepted the fact that Rory’s and Paris’s place is several degrees nicer than his apartment, anything you can find on his entire block really, but this place has his head spinning. The party’s already well on its way to spiralling when they get there and he has the distinct suspicion it’s been going on since this morning in one shape or another. Finn’s amnesia is definite proof of it. It’s one thing he doesn’t remember Jess but Rory? She takes it in her stride however.

“Have we met?” Finn asks, the second time through introductions, which, to be fair, are slightly chaotic.

The first time he asked she gave him her real name, but this time:

“No. I’m Go-Go. Nice to meet ya.” 

She offers her hand which he takes in a languid handshake.

“And you.” He says, before turning to Jess once again. “Jeb, was it?”

“Jess. We’ve met.”

“Ah, you must tell me about it sometime, but for now: Drink, be merry, for tomorrow we will all be in a great deal of pain.” With that Finn grabs a tray of shots and disappears in the crowd.

“Sorry ‘bout that.” Rory says.

“Don’t be.” Jess says, while he grabs two beers off another passing tray. “Joke’s on him in a couple of years when he can’t use his bit anymore.”

“Or his bits.” Rory jokes and clanks her bottle to his.

Jess laughs, and they each take a sip.

“Hey, I really like your outfit.” He says.

She smiles, cheeks slightly pink.

“Yeah, well, I was saving the uniform for just such an occasion.” 

“Did you do something to your hair?” He points. “Bangs?”

“A small sacrifice to the party gods. I considered a wig but my memory of being Harpo is still too fresh.”

“Good choice. It suits you.”

She’s definitely blushing, but it is warm in here. Colin comes up to them and has the good taste to remember both of them. He launches into a rant about abandoning his date over her costume choice. Meanwhile, Rory’s eyes dart across the place but return to Jess quickly, she leans a little closer and mumbles.

“Here comes Logan. Brace yourself.”

Such an interesting expression, all last week he’s felt exposed, unable to protect himself from anything, and now he’s reminded that he still can’t. All he can do is hope for the best. Logan saunters through the crowd- Jess smiles at his outfit, Butch, bold choice, very him- tailed by a pretty girl in a blood-stained wedding dress and a terrible blonde wig.

“Hey the gang’s all here!” Logan trumpets. “Colin, where’s your date?”

“Don’t ask.” Colin whines. “Whitney, is Josie here?”

“Yes, but leave her alone.” The bride named Whitney replies.

“Of course.” Colin says, and immediately leaves. 

The bride rolls her eyes and reaches over to shake Rory’s hand.

“Ah yes, this is Whitney.” Logan says, into his whiskey glass, gesturing at his date.

“Nice to meet you.” Rory says. “I’m Rory, this is Jess.”

Whitney reaches for his hand but Logan gets there before she does.

“Right, Jess, good to see you again, you look sharp.” He says.

“It was mostly born from necessity,” Jess answers, with an apologetic expression aimed at Whitney, before returning his attention to Logan. “I like your costume though.”

Logan’s smile broadens.

“Thanks man.” He slaps Jess’s shoulder. “Rory, you look great. I prefer this getup to the last one.”

Her tight, cheery smile gets slightly bigger.

“I bet.”

“Good party, huh?” He goes on, distinctly to her.

She nods.

“Seems like it.”

“Music’s good.”

“Can’t go wrong with a Tarantino soundtrack.” She admits.

“We’re heading to the bar, get you anything?”

She hooks her arm around Jess’s again, and takes a step to the side, pulling him along.

“We’ll get our own later, we’re just gonna take a look around.”

Rory leads them in the opposite direction and they find a table lean on. Jess sees Logan and Whitney at the bar, her talking animatedly and him smiling, nodding. They both stick out, their costumes are bought, trashed for or by this one occasion, and then later discarded. Meanwhile he himself and Rory make due of what they’re in possession of. At least for the most part. He smiles.

“Where’d you get the weapon?”

“Doyle’s roommate is a larper.”

“Of course.” Jess says, finger quoting his next words. “His roommate.”

Rory laughs. And he thinks that she doesn’t have to do that, build costumes from what she has laying around, cutting her actual hair. But she does. He likes that about her. That and most other things.

They finish their beers and he gets them new ones, when he turns back she’s grabbed two shots. She holds them up and wiggles them slightly.

”What do you say, grandpa?”

He puts down the bottles and grabs one of the glasses she’s holding out, emptying it in one motion, then sets it back on the table with a bang.

”That’s mister grandpa to you.” 

She giggles, and does her shot too. He sits back down. She pulls one of the beer bottles closer and starts picking on the label. He takes a sip from his starting to feel really good for the first time in days. 

”Seriously though,” she starts, ”are you okay?”

He just looks at her face, lets his gaze trail her eyebrows, temples, the corners of her mouth, while the softness of her eyes feels like actual rays of sun on his skin.

”You were so quiet Sunday.” She adds.

”I’m good.” He mumbles, unwilling to speak.

”Really? ‘Cause I felt kinda stupid after the last time-”

He interrupts.

”I’m happy I came out tonight.” He pushes his bottle into hers in some kind of toast that they don’t drink, just hold onto. 

He pets the back of her hand with his finger. She smiles, clearly reassured, and so is he. Little Green Bag starts playing and a laugh bursts out of her.

“It’s your song! We have to dance.”

A big part of him twists in protest at the prospect, but his body is already halfway out on the dance floor, with her hand in his, so maybe she’s right about the must-part. 

It’s surprisingly easy to move with her even if they’ve never been out dancing like this with their peers before, she’s a funny, and generous dancer, doesn’t seem to care about looking silly, and before he knows it he’s laughing, and matching her in theatrics. 

The song doesn’t end so much as get switched two thirds through by the drunk DJ wearing a gimp outfit, and then just to a slower song from the same soundtrack. 

She stills, with a little smile, readying to leave the dancefloor, but he puts an arm around her waist and pulls her closer, starts moving with the music. Her smile widens and she tilts her head placing her arms around his shoulders.

”This is nice,” he admits with a shrug.

”It is.” She agrees.

”God I’ve had a crappy week.” He sighs, and is relieved just from admitting it.

“Wanna tell me about it?”

“You wanna listen?”

“To you? Always.”

He smiles, and takes a deep breath.

“You know. I’m not even sure I could put it into words.” He could, just not very pretty ones. “But thank you.”

She puts her cheek to his and her arms close tighter around his neck. Some of her hair rocks against his face with their motions. Her scent. He closes his eyes and lets himself forget that technically they’re on enemy territory. He has her in his arms, so who cares? Jess Mariano, you hopeless romantic, you. He smiles, even if it hurts, and then he notices that their rhythm has slowed. She turns her head while pulling back and looks at him, face all soft and serious, like she’s about to say something. He looks back and feels like he’s free falling. 

He almost jumps when Colin appears next to them, voice loud enough to cut through the music, and aimed directly at them like they’re just casually picking up the conversation from before.

“Josie’s a lesbian.”

Rory twitches, supposedly at his sudden presence too, but still holds on to Jess, and manages a little devilish smile.

“You struck out, Colin?”

Jess laughs, and it feels like the first breath he’s taken in a while. Colin however is not amused.

“Whatever. Is Lydia here?”

“Yeah, and so is her fiancée.” Rory answers, somewhat absently.

Logan and Whitney join them, and Jess shakes some of the haziness when Rory’s hands drop from his body.

“God, I hate these parties!” Colin exclaims. “It’s the same people over and over.”

“Those would be your friends.” Rory points out.

Finn arrives, throwing his arm over Colin’s shoulder and leaning what seems to be his entire body weight on his annoyed friend.

“Who’s as drunk as I am?” He cheerfully asks.

“No one since Hunter S Thomson died.” Colin mutters. “Too soon?” He adds.

Logan enters the conversation gesturing grandly.

“Don't give him such a hard time! He’s onto something, always meeting everyone for the first time.” 

He chuckles into his whiskey glass at his own remark and Colin stares at him, clearly disillusioned.

“I’m getting a drink.” He disappears.

“And I have to go make the rounds.” Finn says before turning to Rory. “Have I met you yet?”

“Several times.” She smiles patiently.

“Alrighty.” 

He leaves. The four of them remain standing for a couple of seconds and Jess has the time to think that drunk people might be an entertaining crowd but they do have the unfortunate side effect of making you feel hopelessly sober.

“Refill?” He asks Rory.

“Yup.” She answers.

He nods and makes his way to the bar. He waits his turn, mildly distracted by the three girls with guitars dancing on the counter. The bartender clears his throat and Jess looks at him; it’s Marty. Jess smiles, surprised, and Marty returns it but it doesn’t quite reach all the way to the eyes.

“Hey, man.” Jess says, reaching to shake his hand. “I didn’t know you were working this party.”

“The outfits kinda make us look the same.” Marty shrugs. “What’ll it be?”

Jess orders beers, and Marty picks them out.

“Not that I’m complaining,” he goes on, while unscrewing the corks, “most parties with any connection to Huntzberger pays well.” 

“Good. It’s the least he can do.” Jess smiles crookedly.

Marty gives him sort of a funny look, and answers slowly.

“Well, it also helps to have nothing to lose.” 

Jess frowns and Marty moves his eyes to a point behind his head.

“Are you perhaps one date short?” He says.

“No, I’m just-” Jess looks toward the table where he left Rory, finding it empty.

“You should probably put a leash on her,” Marty mutters, gesturing to the corner of the other end of the room.

Jess is shook from Marty’s words but he forgets them the moment he sees what he’s pointed out; Rory is pushed up against the wall by Logan who is kissing her, rather demandingly from the look of it. Then it seems Jess’s blood is boiling, and he understands that expression; seeing red, with searing clarity. He opens his mouth to be able to breathe and turns his head away to get himself under control. He pointedly ignores Marty who stares at him for a few seconds before walking away, leaving the bottles of beer in front of him.

His stomach twists, his breath burns, everything hurts, and he’s grateful that he’s already leaning on the bar. It all falls into place, this whole charade, everything he’s failed to see on account of being so blinded by her. 

He clenches his jaw and breathes slowly, deliberately until his heartbeat has slowed enough for him to form coherent thoughts, some sort of strategy. He straightens and grabs the drinks making his way back to their table at the same time as Rory arrives there. She runs one hand through her hair, straightening it, and has another pressed against her mouth, seems miles away. He puts the bottles on the table and she looks up at him, smiling bleakly. He slides both bottles across the surface toward her.

“Here you go, you can have mine too, I gotta get going.”

Her eyes widen.

“Since when?”

He looks away.

“You don’t need me here, Rory. We’ll talk later.”

He turns to leave but she takes his arm.

“Jess-”

“Please don’t touch me right now.”

She pulls back her hand like he burned her. He’s shocked by his own words too and hurries for the door. It shuts behind him and he gets to drop the act. He closes his hand around the bannister and squeezes so hard it hurts, clutches it to keep himself from hitting something, holds himself still for seconds until he’s ready to tumble down the stairs. He’s at the bottom when he hears the door to the party open - Billy Idol streaming out - and closing, followed by swift footsteps echoing down the staircase. Then Rory’s voice.

“Jess!”

He hurries his steps and pushes the front door to the building open with enough force for it to strike the outside wall. He walks out into the night, taking deep breaths of the cool, moist air. But the footsteps behind him are relentless.

“Jess, wait.”

He stops and turns around in the middle of the parking lot, and she almost runs into him.

“Go back to the party, Rory!” He waves in the direction of the building. ”Your boyfriend’s waiting.”

“He’s not my-” She stops herself and frowns. “You saw us.”

He looks away. 

“Unfortunately.” 

She blushes, it’s clear even in the dark parking lot.

“I told him that I didn’t want to-” She starts, but he interrupts.

“I just feel like such an idiot.” 

“Why?” 

There’s a strange note in her voice that he can’t process. He gestures jaggedly, to cover up that he feels like crying.

“You really had me going,” he forces a dry laugh, “thinking your grandmother was at the center of this whole thing, when it was all about him.”

“It’s not!” 

What is that song in her voice? He’s never heard her sound like that. But he’s angry. At her. At Logan, Marty, but most of all himself.

“Stop it.” He forces out between his clenched teeth. 

“I told him we couldn’t- I told him to get lost!” It’s desperation, that’s what it is, she pauses and stabilises her voice. “He just felt out of control and-”

He laughs, for lack of other acceptable expressions, and she falls quiet. 

“I don’t think breaking the rules of propriety is some new facet of his personality.” 

“Look who’s talking!” She raises her voice now too and it makes his heartbeat pick up.

“You shouldn’t make excuses for him.” He growls. 

He turns, taking a few steps from her. He was going to let it be, but while he’s trying to get a hold of himself he also wants to keep going, and when has restraint ever gotten him anything anyway? It’s unclear what it could possibly yield at this juncture. Maybe all he needs right now is to get something off his chest, anything out of the pit of his stomach. He laughs to himself, and turns back to her. 

“I can’t believe I’ve turned into Luke.”

She squints at him, seems genuinely puzzled. 

“What?”

“This sucker good guy!” He puts as much disgust as he can into his voice.

She crosses her arms, nods in pace with his words.

“It’s fucking stifling,” he goes on, ”no wonder he’s so grumpy all the time.”

“And what’s your excuse?” Her voice is hard. 

“My excuse?”

“Yeah.” Her nostrils flare. “I don’t think you’re a particularly good guy at the moment, in fact I think you’re behaving pretty shitty right now.”

“I’m being shitty?” He says, emphasising the first word, but not missing her choice of adjective.

“Yes!” She exclaims. “Ditching me at a party we both agreed to go to.”

He points a finger at her.

“You ditched me first.” 

“I didn’t-” She takes a sharp breath. “He kissed me.”

“He is your boyfriend after all.” Jess quips.

“Logan is not my boyfriend, but neither are you.” Her voice breaks, and she goes on, hissing. “So why are you acting like you’re jealous all of a sudden?”

“Because I-” He reins himself in. “I’m not jealous, just don’t expect me to watch you get off with someone else while I’m standing around like a moron at a fucking costume party.”

Her mouth is slightly open, her chest rising and falling with her upset breaths.

“‘Someone else’.” She nods and stares at the ground, and he’s just about to assume she’s done when she looks back at him and speaks again, voice low. “I was single for a whole year-”

He feels himself gasp for air. 

“-you had plenty of time to-” 

She has to stop talking, he has to make her.

“I know!” He says, louder than he expected too, and she gets quiet.

He wasn’t going to have this conversation with her, the worst idea in the history of bad ideas. He presses his lips together, trying to stop his words, or turn them into something else, but can’t, they climb out of him on their own accord. 

“After I picked you up that night, I was in a panic for weeks.”

She just looks at him, and he takes a few breaths before more words need saying, words that won’t be stopped, that have been biding their time for years, laid in wait for this compromised moment.

“That was my window and I’d already lost time, and I wanted to tell you-” He closes his eyes, so he won’t have to face her. “-To do something. But I couldn’t, and I couldn’t figure out why because I-” He finally holds back a word, but of course that means others slip past him. “Then you were leaving for Europe so I had to tell you before you left and I came to say-”

She speaks.

“I remember. You were at the sidewalk when I drove away.” Her voice is blank and beautiful again, and he moves toward her without meaning to, so weak for her.

“You didn’t drive,” he corrects her, “you were picked up, by this snazzy car,” he chuckles even if nothing is funny, “just to take you to the airport, and I-” He looks up into the sky, remembering the moment. “You were wearing this outfit, probably pre approved by your grandmother, and there was something about you walking down the pathway, to the car that just- That was when I realised that I-” he clears his throat. “That you weren’t for me.”

He’s dazed from the release of telling her, and looks back at her face, but her eyes are cold.

“Huh.” She nods, slowly. “You got all that off a car? ’Cause to a casual observer it’d seem like you’re just rationalising chickening out.”

“You don’t get it.” He mumbles.

“No I don’t.” Her voice goes sharp again. “I think I should have more say in who’s for me than a vehicle and an outfit that don’t even possess the power of speech.” She gestures to amplify her words.

He glares pointedly at her.

“What is it Butch in there drives again?” 

“Oh please.” She spits. “If I was into cars I’d pick a guy with a bigger backseat.”

He actually laughs, but it’s completely void of joy.

“Anyway, what I feel doesn’t matter, if you liked me why didn’t you do anything about it, huh? You were there too.” He says, shaking his head. “Instead you went off to Europe and then you got back and immediately hooked up with Skip-”

“Jess!” She barks, but he ignores it.

“Sorry, I meant your fuck-buddy!”

Her lower lip falls in a tiny gasp, and he has just enough time to start hating himself before she takes a step closer until they’re just a few inches apart, and he has to face her properly. She looks him straight in the eye, expression so soft and unrelenting his heart skips a beat. When she speaks it’s with a lower voice.

“I had my reasons for not telling you how I felt,” she swallows, “not that you’d understand.”

Suddenly he needs to know, like he needs air.

“Try me.”

She raises her face and stares at him, pale, wounded.

“I don’t really feel like trusting you at the moment. We’re supposed to be friends, but you’re not even listening to me. That’s why you’re shitty.”

His chest quakes in something like a laugh, a sob, a plain convulsion. She thinks he’s shitty, might finally be done seeing the best in him.

“You would have caught that sooner if you’d paid better attention. I mean, just the things I’ve mismanaged on your watch should be pretty solid evidence, and that’s not even counting the shit I was up to before moving to Connecticut. I’m not this stand up guy you think I am. Ask anyone.”

Her eyes go shiny and he immediately regrets every decision he’s made tonight. 

“I probably should have, huh?” She mumbles thickly. “We’ve been friends for what? Four years? What could I possibly know about you?” 

“Rory-” He tries.

“This hasn’t been easy for me either.” She says, voice trembling. “Pretending to date you. Keeping things… clear.”

“Ror, I’m sorry-” He really is by now, so, so sorry.

She takes another step toward him, and his eyes have to move to read her, she looks upset, cheeks red and eyes dark as they flick to his mouth and back to meet his gaze again. 

“I know you make mistakes, I’ve seen it.” She says, slowly. “I assumed it was because you were human.” She shrugs, and looks down. “And I’m guessing you haven’t agreed with every decision I’ve made, I just didn’t think that was grounds for being deemed a terrible person.”

He blinks at her, unable to answer. She’s so close, too close. Her gaze climbs him again, almost absently and she takes light hold of his tie, running the piece of cloth between her fingers. He feels the pull of it and reaches for the clean and rational thoughts he’s used so often to handle what he’s feeling for her, what he always felt, but he can’t find them now, there’s just darkness, and a worn word, ripped out of context: Friend. She’s his friend. But he wants her, and he can’t hide from that anymore. Then her eyes are on his face again and he forgets everything except the pulse in his chest, neck, mouth. 

“But you have my attention now.” She mumbles. “Go on, tell me all about what a bad guy you are.”

He shakes his head, shushing her as he pulls her close and puts his lips to hers. It happens so fast, his mouth nudging hers open, a shiver runs through him at the sensation of it, then he’s neck deep in it, in her. He cups her jaw with his other hand to steer her. He’s kissed her before but now the ground shakes, falls away, together with that worn, weak word. He is kissing her without asking permission or making a plan about it, without anyone watching. Her lips, her tongue, move against his, but he can’t process it in any terms requiring words, he's just lost to her scent, her taste, the structure of her mouth, the feeling of her rapid breath against his face.

He moves them toward the back of a car, mainly because he can’t get close enough, but then her back is against it, he gets to feel the warmth and soft pressure of her body, and it makes him shake. Her arms find their way around his back and shoulders under his jacket and there’s a weird note in her voice, a little creaking sound. 

His hands come alive on their own tracing her waist through the silky cotton of her shirt and the rougher plaid of her skirt. He’s not into school uniforms as some kind of kink, but he is badly into her, so maybe that means he’s lying; He’s been dreaming about kissing her and more since he met her, and as long as she went to Chilton these specific clothes were definitely featured in his fantasies. Maybe that’s one of the myriad of reasons he’s losing it now. He gets hard while his knees go weak and he presses himself to her and keeps kissing her, each tiny motion crumbling their friendship between its fingers. But he means it, every movement, everything he takes, it’s honest. 

He has to touch her skin, or he’ll die, but her shirt is neatly buttoned and tucked in. So he reaches under her skirt. There’s that creaking sound again, a moan. It makes no sense. She just made out with Logan, not ten minutes ago. He shouldn’t be touching her like this. 

He summons what’s left of his self-control and pulls back to look at her, but her face follows him part of the way. Her chest rises and falls with her breaths, her eyes still partly closed, but they open slowly as she looks at him, dazed. She whispers his name- it’s just a little hissing sound- and moves her body against his, against his hands, still under her skirt, and there’s another shiver run through him at the response. Her arms are tightening around him, holding onto him, that is all. He leans in again but a voice cuts through the dark.

“Rory!”

Logan. Jess turns his head and sees the figure of him by the building’s entrance. They’re too far off into the darkness, too immobile for him to register them, especially if he’s drunk which it’s reasonable to assume he is. There he is, in only his Butch costume despite it being March, the warmth from the party practically visible around him, like an aura. The chill in the air is suddenly noticeable. 

Jess removes his hands from Rory and brushes past her bare knees, they’re cold. He looks at her face and sees she’s working on pulling herself together, lost in some inner process, straightening her skirt. He looks at her until she locks eyes with him. She looks helpless, like she’s clutching at straws. She’s with someone, maybe not a boyfriend, but someone else. He swallows and steps away from her. 

As he’s walking away he can hear The Specials playing through the open windows to the party.

* * *

_ Rory  _

“Rory!”

She almost doesn’t hear Logan’s voice calling her name on account of her heartbeat, her blood rushing in her body, almost. She has no problem hearing the steps from Jess’s shoes as he walks away though.

“I’m here, Logan.” She answers, raising her voice to compensate for the fact that she’s not facing him.

Softer, slower steps approach her from behind and Logan appears by her side. He stands there for a few seconds watching the shape of Jess disappear into obscurity.

“That him?”

“Yeah.” She breathes.

There’s a little sound from Logan’s chuckle, Rory still hasn’t turned to look at him.

“Whitney’s pissed at me too.” 

“Told you so.”

In the corner of her eye she sees Logan turn to her, and she knows he’s smiling.

“You know, one could say things worked out for the better.”

“But I wouldn’t.” She looks at the ground and pushes some dust around with the tip of her shoe.

“You ready to leave now?” He asks, warmly, but she just registers it, she doesn’t feel it.

“No thanks.” She mumbles.

Logan groans.

“Ace! Not you too! Is it the costume?” He gestures at himself and she finally turns to him.

“No, Logan!” She says. “It’s the fact that you pulled me away to kiss me despite both of us having dates!”

Logan raises his eyebrows but never stops smiling.

“I had a date.” He points at his chest, and then at her. “You had a beard. Call tomorrow and apologise, he’ll get over it, unlike Whitney.” He gestures vaguely to a point behind him.

“You don’t get it.”

“No, I don’t.” He says straightly, maybe she overestimated his inebriation. “To be fair you haven’t bothered explaining much to me lately.”

She starts speaking, louder to make up for the small part of her that feels bad for him.

“You’re the one who said-” 

“I know what I said.” He admits, but she’s not ready to back down.

“So, I made arrangements to get Robert off my back and then you go and change the rules-” 

“Robert, huh?” He smirks. “It’s someone new every conversation.”

“He asked me out,” she explains, “and apparently a simple no is out of style-”

“Was it ever in?”

“-and Jess helped me out, again.”

“Yeah, he’s a real buddy.” Logan squints at her, his smile still intact though. 

Rory starts pacing in front of him.

“We had a plan and this wasn’t it.”

“What plan?” Logan sounds equal parts frustrated and amused.

She stomps her foot.

“Not for me to make out with someone else behind his back, that’s for sure.”

Logan holds out his hands.

“So what if we kissed? It’s not like he has any real stakes in you, right?”

Rory stops and glares at Logan.

“He’s my friend. And I humiliated him.”

Logan stops smiling.

“You seem awfully invested in his feelings.”

Strange, how she can feel defensive and completely justified at the same time.

“What part of ‘he’s my friend’ don’t you understand?” She says. “He’s been in my life longer than you have, Logan, and I’d like to keep him there.”

Logan sighs.

“Fine, you care, you feel bad, noted. Can we go back to the party now, or back to my place? I’m fine with either.”

She presses her lips together holding back the vertigo that looms with either one of those options. Then she looks back at her feet.

“I have an early start.” She mumbles. “I gotta go. See you later.”

She just walks off, doesn’t turn to see his expression or what he does, just heads in the direction of Branford. Her uniform is pretty good in the crisp night air, but her legs are cold, and she feels sore, like her skin is burning in places. As she gets closer to her building she picks up the pace until she’s running, moves past the entrance and heads for the parking lot. She stops, panting, and looks for Jess’s car, but it’s gone.

She turns and makes her way inside. Paris and Doyle are entertaining themselves in Paris’s room, and Rory locates her earplugs in the bathroom before anything. She brushes her teeth. She gets undressed and gets into her pyjamas without turning on the lights in her room. 

She finally gets to go to bed. But that means she also has a chance to think about what actually happened in the parking lot. Jess kissed her without an audience. He kissed her, and obviously wanted more. ’I’m better’, he told her a couple of weeks back. ‘I know’, she said, but seeing him with someone else and experiencing him turned out to be two very different things. 

Her heartbeat picks up and gravity shifts when she thinks about it. Lorelai was right, shocker. Rory has enjoyed this never ending game of charades, as her mother put it. She’s enjoyed the excuses to touch him, kiss him, pretend he was hers. And she’s enjoyed the safety-net that came with the fact that they were just pretending. He was safe, for her, from her.

But that kiss in the parking lot wasn’t safe. She’s maintained a childish, romantic notion about how he would be in that situation, and he turned out to be so much better, so much worse, so much more than what she’s been able to imagine. Her mouth waters and she can’t make out the knot in her belly, fear, lust. She’s been wanting him, playing with it like it was a toy, turning a blind eye to the fact that she’s been into him, and not in a fake way, for years. She feels so terribly naive for initiating this, for not seeing, or refusing to see that it would have some real life consequences. And she hasn’t thought about what him wanting her would mean, truly.

Sex for her so far has ranged between terrible and pleasant, and between the two guys she’s had it with. She’s aware that her one time with Dean might not actually have been objectively terrible as far as first times go, that it was compromised by her compromising, that she did it for the wrong reasons and that’s why it felt so bad. But his behavior following it is pretty solid proof that once was all they had in them. Logan is everything Dean isn’t. She was drunk their first time, it was the only way she would have dared to go through with it, it still turned out very nice. He’s experienced and leads her like a strong dancer, evenly, rhythmically moving through the different parts and she clings to it, to him, that he knows what he is doing even if she doesn’t. And even if she doesn’t like acknowledging it, the other girls are important in this equation, because they’re proof of his prowess. And it’s nice, it’s pleasant, she even orgasms, she thinks. 

Jess is her friend but he can kiss her like that, hold onto her like that, touch her like that, like he needs to. Or does this mean they’re not friends anymore? Can she ever look at him again without feeling his hands on her thighs, his tongue in her mouth, hear his breathing? Or without thinking about how he would fuck her, and what it would be like? She kissed him back too, and would’ve forgotten everything if they hadn’t been interrupted. Was there some way she could have acted differently that would have meant they ended up here in her bed? Could she have held onto him, and quietly pulled him with her into the night… Would she have dared?

Eventually she falls asleep, probably, even if she doesn’t feel like she does.


	9. Trapped In Amber

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously on Gilmore Girls: The plot and tension thickens. Not gonna lie, this story might be mine, but it is not bouncin and behaving as I would’ve predicted. Jess had a bad week which culminated on Finn’s Tarantino-party, that must have been a bummer seeing Logan and Rory kiss like that. But it knocked something loose, at least, and he and Rory had it out in the parking lot, in more than one way. Are they still friends, having gotten so friendly? Hey, all I know is that our heroes are in kind of a weird place right now. Let’s see how they’re holding up.

_ Rory _

She wasn’t lying about the early start, but she was planning on ignoring it, maybe. When she wakes from her alarm though, any wiggle room is blissfully out the window, and she hurries to her lecture. She listens attentively, senses heightened. She joins the study group for a couple of hours afterwards, usually doesn’t since she thinks she gets more work done when she’s on her own. But now she participates and helps out and even winds up going for a late lunch with the group. After that she stops by the newsroom to hand over a couple of pieces to Doyle, and finds herself strangely receptive to criticism from him that she usually would have shot down. Now she nods and smiles like some kind of receptionist and hears herself agreeing to do all the revisions he wants.

The day runs long and she gets back to her dorm and would you look at the time? She still sits with her phone for a few minutes, just staring at it, wishing it would come alive and do something, so she won’t have to.

Finally she thinks of something she actually has to do, and calls Lorelai.

“I need you to come to Friday Night Dinner with me.”

“What? No way!” 

“Mom! You should have seen them last Friday when you didn’t show,”

“I wish I could’ve!” Lorelai hoots.

“Grandma tried to fix it! She talked to Luke-”

“Talked at him is more like it.” Lorelai huffs. “And why is never a simple apology the first thing they try? Some verbal remorse might actually change things. Instead it’s more puppetmaster bullshit.” She briefly pauses and when she speaks again her smile is audible. “Why don’t you just bring your fake boyfriend along? That’ll keep Emily sated.”

“I can’t.” Rory pushes the words out as fast as she can just to have them out there.

Then there’s another pause.

“What happened?” Lorelai asks.

“Nothing! I can’t-” Rory sighs. “I don’t have time to cover it right now, let’s just say that I’ve exhausted that option.”

“Rory-” Lorelai goes, slightly sharper.

“I know.” Rory tries to sound bitter. “You don’t have to say I told you so.”

“Not looking to. But I would appreciate you telling me what happened ‘cause I’m pretty sure Luke is gonna give me a hard time about it.”

Rory goes cold, she was anticipating humiliation, but not being the cause of another obstacle for Luke and her mom.

“What? Why?”

“He’ll just give me that look and I’ll-”

“You haven’t done anything wrong.” She does her best to sound calm, rational. “This is all me.”

“He’ll say I should have taken him more seriously when he was worried.”

“Just tell him it’s all back to normal.” She can hear the increased desperation in her own voice. “We’re not doing it anymore.”

There’s a sound on the other end, a weird little laugh, followed by a baffled pause.

“He wasn’t worried about it seeming weird.” Lorelai slowly objects. “He was worried about Jess!”

Rory falls quiet, and just hugs the phone. 

“It’s never about appearances with Luke, you should know that by now.” Lorelai goes on, and Rory swallows. “It’s about the people he cares about and he says-” She suddenly stops talking.

“What?” Rory asks, meekly.

“Well, he’s always implied, that he thinks, that maybe-” The words fall from Lorelai in a weird rhythm, like they’re getting heavier while she's trying to make them seem lighter.

“Mom!” Rory blurts.

“That Jess was in love with you.” Lorelai says.

The words just lay there between them and seem too dangerous to touch. The love part, the past tense part, the part where it’s Lorelai telling her this, the part where Luke was worried and rightly so. Rory suddenly feels like dropping the entire thing and reconciling herself to going to Friday Night Dinner alone, to admit to Emily that she and Jess are no longer a thing, and submit herself to be set up with as many sweatervest wearing heirs as her grandmother deems suitable.

“Well, this is awkward.” Lorelai mumbles.

“Yup.”

Lorelai sighs.

“I’ll come to Friday Night Dinner.”

“Thank you.” Rory says and hangs up. 

She stares at her phone again. She should call him, right? To apologise if nothing else. But is she ready for anything else? It takes two to have a conversation. Is she ready for anything he’ll have to say? Does she know for certain that she won’t blurt out something stupid? He always picks up when she calls, but what if he doesn’t this time? What if he pushes her call through to voicemail? What does that tell her? She’s not prepared to handle any version of a call, she decides, and goes to bed instead.

She repeats the maneuver on Friday: staying busy and then driving directly to Hartford for dinner. She finds Lorelai pacing outside the house, and hooks her arm in hers leading her up to the door.

“You owe me.” Lorelai mutters as the doorbell chimes.

“Get in line.” Rory mumbles. 

The plan works as anticipated though: The presence of Lorelai means Rory is off the hook. Not one question about her personal life for the entire evening, and Lorelai gets away with playing hardball more than under usual circumstances. Rory follows her back to Stars Hollow after dinner and they watch a movie.

“I have to admit,” Lorelai says, “that was cathartic.”

“I bet.” Rory smiles. “Particularly that bit about Mussolini.”

“I’m just glad to have it out of my system. I got that interview coming up, you know, that magazine’s based in Hartford, chances are they’d ask me about my family.”

“Good thinking.”

“It was your idea.” Lorelai smiles.

Rory spends the night, but wakes up early. She walks into the kitchen in her robe and almost straight into Luke, who’s cleaning out the coffeemaker. She stops abruptly trying to get it together. She realises she doesn’t know what he knows.

“Hey Rory!” He says, cheerily putting an arm around her shoulder.

Obviously he knows nothing. No way she changes that.

“Hi Luke.” She smiles, and tries to enjoy the relief that stems from him and Lorelai being back together and happy again.

“I’ll make you some coffee in a minute, I just gotta get these grounds outta this crack. “ He squints at a particularly ingrained crevice in the machine.

“That’s okay.” She says, sitting down at the table, and watches him.

He and Lorelai got together after she’d already moved out, everytime she sees him in their house he’s fixing something. He’s always doing stuff, never blandly talking or making casual promises, he’s all in. That’s what kind of person he is. She smiles a little to herself, and then feels bad over the possibility that she might have made him disappointed, Jess has described the feeling of obligation to him on multiple occasions, and sighed over his uncle's special power of invoking it. 

But Luke clearly doesn’t know about her and Jess falling out, Jess hasn’t told him. Maybe it’s not so bad, maybe Luke was wrong in his assumption about Jess’s feelings. She tells herself that’s the case several times, despite a quiet, dry, but persistent voice deep inside saying that Jess hasn’t told Luke because Jess rarely tells anyone anything private without being explicitly asked.

Luke finishes his project and loads the coffee maker. 

“You’re off to work?” Rory asks.

“Yep.” He answers. “There’s a soccer game going on over by the school, should be a busy day.”

Rory nods.

“Any plans for tomorrow?” She asks.

“Just more work.” Luke says. “Jess is apparently training some new recruit at the bookstore and was needed there.” He squints at her. “Didn’t he tell you?”

“Uhm, yes, he did.” She lies. “I just forgot, habit.”

Luke smiles.

“I can relate.” He grabs his coat. “I’m heading out.”

“Okay.” She says, and he heads for the door. “ Hey, Luke-”

He turns.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for the coffee.”

Luke leaves. She sits, listening to the hissing of the coffee machine. No Sunday at the Diner. Jess’s excuse seems valid enough, but he definitely would have called her to let her know if everything was as usual. They’re not okay. Her throat stings but she pours herself some coffee and downs it, along with the pain. She packs up her stuff, goes back to Yale and dives into the new piece she’s writing for the paper.

She and Paris start Sunday off on the couch watching reruns of Beverly Hills discussing the characters vividly, but Doyle drops by around noon which makes it impossible to stay there. Even the loudest volume on the TV won’t cover up what she knows is going on behind Paris’s door. So she turns it off completely and heads out. 

She half expects Lane to call and is worried that she might ask why she’s not in Stars Hollow, but then she remembers that it’s Caesar’s Sunday anyway. Right when she’s gotten comfortable under her tree her phone does ring and she picks it up looking at the screen, it’s Logan, for the first time since the party. He might have been pissed that she brushed him off, or he might have just been busy with other things, both options are equally possible. She’s still considering if she should answer when it stops ringing. Oh well.

She thinks about last Sunday, Jess’s tired face and blank stares, and she thinks about the one before that; ‘I love you, Jess’. It was a relief to say it, but now it feels like she cheated, pouring everything she feels for him into this one aspect of their relationship. The rest of their Sundays line up behind the last one like a string of pearls. Her vision goes blurry and she gets to her feet walking fast to shake it.

She faces the week head on, and aims to be excellent at everything for seven straight days, No half measures, take no prisoners. On Monday she has to call Logan to maintain the status quo, but she really isn’t ready to talk to him. Instead he picks up her phone and dials his number in the middle of the one lecture she knows he tries to keep attendance in to get Mitchum off his back. She naturally gets his machine, and leaves a message saying that she saw he called and she’s really busy and could they maybe talk next week? 

She keeps productivity up well into Tuesday and her plan is working until she arrives back at the dorm after her afternoon lecture and finds her father outside her door. She freezes, and he straightens his back when he sees her.

“Your roommate wouldn’t let me wait inside,” he says, smiling apologetically, “something about me being a stranger.”

She doesn’t return the smile but retrieves her keys from her bag and walks past him, up to the door.

“Good woman, that Paris.” She mumbles.

“I don’t blame you, kiddo.”

“Good to know.” She opens the door.

“Please.” He says, and she almost starts crying right there and then. “I am so sorry.”

She bites down around her actual feelings and laughs coldly, but feels halfway through her exhale that it was a dangerous move, she turns her face away to hide the tears welling up in her eyes.

“Sorry for what, exactly?” She manages. “It’s such a long list.”

“It is.” He says. “And I was hoping we could get dinner together, I could read you the specification.”

She’s not in the mindset of forgiveness, or vulnerability, but maybe that means it’s actually a good time for this. She’s not sure he deserves to be forgiven again, she’s already done that, given him that, so many times. Maybe this is the time she finally doesn’t. Maybe he’ll learn something from it.

“Okay.” She says.

She insists on going off campus, on driving her own car, making it clear she relies on him for nothing. She makes way to the restaurant Graham took her to almost a year ago, even if she couldn’t say why. It was crowded and loud then, it might be the same way now, no need to make it easy for him. Or maybe she’ll feel like she did when she was last here; righteously guarded.

They get a table and Christopher makes small talk. He’s good at this stuff, the awkward pre-conversational pieces, he always keeps himself together so well for it and she wonders how many hours of his life has been wasted in spaces like these, the in-betweens. While he chats about the menu she thinks about what it was like to grow up as Christopher Hayden; an only child in a rich home, raised to be well-behaved above everything else, to manage appearances. And she thinks about her mother, who was raised the same way but turned out completely different. Why? Is it all Lorelai? Or is it the fact that when you get right down to it Emily and Richard aren’t really pleasant people, but rather troublemakers? Or is it that fact that they genuinely love each other, unlike Straub and Francine? For the first time in months she experiences a fierce kind of pride over her grandparents, in spite of everything. And she thinks about Logan, suddenly, painfully.

“So, let’s hear it.” She says as soon as they’ve gotten their drinks.

Christopher smiles, and she crosses her arms.

“Okay.” He clears his throat and shifts in his seat. “I’m sorry I meddled in your mother’s life after you specifically told me not to.”

“I thought you had an actual list.” She turns her drink a few angles.

“Give me some credit.” Christopher tilts his head. “I do have enough of a moral compass to be able to account for the things I did wrong without a checklist.”

“Fine.” She says. “You’re sorry for messing with mom. Now, what’s your plan to make sure you don’t do that ever again?”

“Rory.” He says softly, and she hates him a little, a lot, right then. “You know I’ll never stop loving your mom.”

Rory bites the inside of her cheek.

“And she loves me too,” Christopher goes on, “we’ll never be completely out of each other’s lives, and when you’re in someone’s life sometimes lines get blurred.” 

Rory nods with increasing fervor as he speaks.

“I know she loves you,” she says, sharp enough so he’ll know not to interrupt her, “but I’m starting to question if you really love her. Like, love her, when she isn’t the last thing you reach for mid-crisis.”

He looks pale.

“I suppose that’s fair,” he mumbles.

“You should think about that. If you love someone, you’re meant to make their life better too.” She sips her drink to project calm, and ignores how the little girl inside her chest wants so desperately to please him and ease his pain, to be his child and not his school teacher. “What’s the next thing on the docket?” She asks.

He blinks, perhaps surprised that she still has her eyes on that darn list.

“I am,” he starts, slower this time, “sorry I got so drunk. I shouldn’t have done that to… anyone at that party really.”

She stares at him, tapping her fingers on the rim of her glass, until he speaks again.

“And I vow to not drink like that in your presence ever again.”

She presses her lips together.

“Okay. I would prefer at all but I’ll settle for any function involving me, mom, or my grandparents.”

He nods, completely serious by now, searching her face for more. She doesn’t give anything away, but keeps her voice even as she speaks again.

“And?” 

“I am sorry I insulted Luke, and your date.” He says. “I did it out of jealousy, nothing else. And I hope the not-drinking-thing is gonna help me not lose it like that again.”

“I hope so too.” She says.

Their food arrives, and they eat, mostly in silence, it’s easy in a place like this, where they’re surrounded by loud college crowds and music playing over the entire thing. Christopher tries initiating lighter conversational topics a few times but she firmly resists it, even if a big part of her is starting to object to carrying the weight of the moment. He pays the bill and they leave. He walks her to her car. 

“For what it’s worth, your boyfriend seems like a good guy.” He tries, with a small smile.

Everything about the statement hurts to hear, the reference to Jess, Christopher’s cheap assessment of him, based off of a drunken evening over a month ago. She clenches her jaw.

“He’s not my boyfriend.” She says, tightly.

There’s a sound of a chuckle and she looks up at Christopher, ready for a fight.

“You sure about that?” He jokes.

She glares at him, and picks up her pace. He hurries to keep up. She reaches her car.

“Rory, I’m-” He starts, stops, starts again. “I need to know that we’re okay.”

“We’re not.” Her answer is immediate. 

He looks at her, lost, desperate, and she takes a breath before going on, softer.

“I don’t trust you, dad, I hope you understand why.”

He soberly nods.

“But I’m gonna act like I do.” She goes on. “What we did tonight, it’s a verbal contract, and you’re required to uphold your end of it before we can try to get back to normal. I hope you do, that’s the extent of the investment I’m willing to put into our relationship at the moment.”

His eyes go shiny, and she feels her throat sting too, and hurries to open her car door. And then, right when she’s about to get into her seat, she fixes her eyes on the streetlight next to him and speaks, even if her voice trembles.

“I’ll always hope though, even when I’ve given up. I can’t get away from that.” She manages to get the last words out before her voice breaks and she gets into the car and drives off without looking at him, certain his face will stop her. She cries herself to sleep over Christopher, for the first time in years.

When she wakes up she actually feels a bit better, even if her pace has slowed some from yesterday. She still makes her list to stay productive. She has an afternoon lecture and a date with the studygroup before that. She packs up her books, and notepads, and heads out. The sun shines and she squints at the light as she exits the building. When her eyes adjust she sees Logan standing on the grass in front of her. She stops, and stares. He smiles, naturally. She catches up with herself and smiles too.

“Logan, hi!” She takes a few steps up to him so that they’re facing each other.

“Hello, Rory.” He says, and her eyes narrow slightly at the rare greeting.

She gestures in the direction she’s going.

“I’m on my way to-”

“I’ll walk you.” He says.

She smiles at him again and starts walking, he places himself on her right side, and she slows her pace to be polite, like they’re going for a stroll. They’re quiet, and it makes her wildly uncomfortable.

“Was there anything in particular you-” She starts, but he interrupts her.

“Actually, yes.”

“Oh.” She says, with another smile, curious and nervous at the same time. “What?”

“Do you love me?”

She stops from the sheer shock, and turns to him. He’s smiling, sunnily, maybe a bit softer than he usually does.

“Logan-” She starts.

“Yes, Rory?”

“I-” She can’t finish, her mouth is just on autocruise while she’s out of gas.

“The reason I’m asking,” he says, patiently, “- and I’m surprised I didn’t think of it sooner than a week ago, but- You know, I partly blame my ego, it’s a few sizes too big, I’ll be the first person to admit that, and it didn’t occur to me that you might- or that I wasn’t-” He stops, eyes narrowing as his smile broadens again, then he sighs. “Why didn’t you ask me to help you out with your grandmother?”

She just gapes, has no idea on how to approach his question.

“It would have been my pleasure to escort you to any function, and I’m great with grandparents, and also I- I like you.”

“But-” She tries. “You said you didn’t-”

“I know, I know.” He nods his head from side to side. “The no-dating-clause is more like a general disclaimer, and most girls ignore it anyway, it’s a vicious cycle really, but my point is-” He weighs between his feet and leans closer to her, raising his eyebrows. “You’d be surprised how many girls I’ve helped out in similar situations, and I would’ve done it for you too, but you didn’t even ask me.”

He leans back on his heels, and puts his hands in his pockets. She’s been quiet for too long, she has to speak, so she goes with his name again, without being able to produce more than that. He looks up at her with his blue eyes, and it’s so strange, how they’ve fooled around for weeks, months really, they’ve flirted, kissed, slept together, and never once has he looked so tenderly at her as he does right now, in the too bright sunshine. She feels like crying again. And he leans in and pecks her mouth, openly, in broad daylight, she hears at least one pair of voices close to them go hushed; this could have been the start of something. His lips tighten against hers when he smiles again, and when he backs away he looks exactly as he did the first time she met him. He raises his hand at her.

“See ya later, Ace.” 

She never did ask Logan. Why didn’t she ask him? And just like that it’s clear; Because she knew what it would lead to. Her wanting to please her grandparents is going to kill her; Even a whiff of Huntzberger around her and that would be it for them. She would be stuck forever and that wasn’t what she wanted. He’s not what she wants. She never did ask him. She asked Jess. Asked her best friend to pretend, in some blue-eyed notion that if they said it wasn’t real it would be safe, she would stay safe and keep him safe. But it never was. The brain can’t tell the difference. 

* * *

_ Jess  _

He’s in love with Rory Gilmore. He has denied it, stepped on it, run from it, come back to it, given up on it, and lived with it so long he’s gotten used to it. He figured that was okay, he could drag it around, without having to think about it, or put it into words. Now those words won’t stop ringing in his head. He’s in love with her. He loves her. 

He tries blocking it out with the fact that they’re friends, best friends, that she’s taken, that she’s basically extended family - like he ever had any sort of relationship with that concept to begin with. And he thinks about that night she left for Europe. He plays it on repeat, he adds bits from the renewal, Emily’s comments, Christopher’s, and some stuff from the Chinese restaurant. ‘I didn’t realise shopkeeping was so attractive.’ ‘She can’t just grab whoever’s available.’ ‘High end!’

She likes him, and he has pretty definitive proof that she’s attracted to him, she even goes so far as to say she loves him and he’ll take it even if she meant more along the lines of some platonic, cosmic variety of that feeling. If it was just the two of them- his idiotic brain tries, but doesn’t get far. Because even when he thinks of her, just her, it’s clear; She’s attending Yale, she’ll have a big life. Even under optimal circumstances he’ll be stuck on a few very limited patches of land all his life, landlocked, no matter what coast he’s on. 

Logan is right for her. He’s thought so a hundred times. No actually, just once or twice. It’s been enough. Now he forces himself to look at it, really look at what it is he imagines; Logan is easy to picture, at the renewal, a restaurant or club, even a lecture hall at Yale, he looks just as good everywhere, fits in, his surroundings bend around the shape of him, his presence. Rory, however... She takes form before his eyes. She looks exactly like she did that night she left for Europe, those exact clothes, posed next to Logan, matching him, like the rest of his surroundings, frozen, unchanging. He tries to see her happy there. 

What is she like when she’s happy? Her eyes glittering, her smile, her cheeks pink from laughter, but he doesn’t have to picture it, because he remembers it, and now he can add her scent to it, her taste, the sound of her breath, her nervous laughter. He can’t control what he imagines because of it anymore, he knows too much. She’s happy when they’re together, there’s no denying that. And he wants to make her happy, in every way possible, wants to make her his, to have the simple selfish pleasure of being the one who gets to give her that. 

Logan may be right for her but Jess can’t imagine them together without feeling sick. Before this whole thing it was an abstract, vague idea he could conceptualise and not think about, but now he’s seen what they look like together, not only in the presence of other people, but when they’re alone, when they kiss. Logan may be right for her, but Jess can’t stand the thought, because he wants her for himself, and more importantly, is already hers, even if she doesn’t even know it.

And despite his defeat he’s not spared from another set of thoughts; What has he been doing with his life? That’s what that phrase about his window meant, not that he should’ve made a move on her like some chump, but that he should have made use of his time, tried somehow to keep up with her. Instead he’s been too scared to move, and rightly so. He feels himself tipping inside, and knows what it means. Not an inspirational montage with him signing into community college or some shit like that, unfortunately. But something along the lines of a bender, or getting into a fight, or making just the worst decisions available for himself. The wheel of misfortune is spinning, where will it stop?

He clings to his work like it’s a lifeline, to the customers, goes above and beyond, works as late as Clyde will let him, even without overtime. He goes to bed and ignores his fingers that want to dial her number and his need to hear her voice. He doesn’t dare. Calling her could go wrong in a thousand different ways, each one hurrying up the process of him falling over the edge. Or he could repeat his hit from two years ago, calling her and not speaking, that’ll go over well. All the while a softer, smaller voice inside urges him to call Luke, to ask for help, or not ask, but let him offer it anyway, and to take it, no matter what shape it comes in.

And meanwhile she doesn’t call, and it hurts, then he’s glad she hasn’t, but he wants her to, so he gets the chance to not pick up.

All this whirrs in his head for days as he works, works, works, calls Luke and lies. It’s easy the first time because it’s not a straight lie. Clyde hired the kid and he needed to learn the ropes. Now it’s Friday and Jess will have to call and lie again, it’ll be more difficult this time. He pushes the call ahead of himself until the end of his shift, then decides against making it at all. He can do it tomorrow. 

He doesn’t get coffee, it’ll keep him up. Instead he goes home, has a beer and picks out his notebook. But he can’t stand his own writing tonight, the scribbled words stare back at him in all their inadequacy. He reads a few chapters from Just Kids. It’s a time honored distraction for him, he’s read himself through the worst parts of his life, and it’s helped him survive, but he’s too smart not to acknowledge that it has caused him some problems too. 

So, after an hour he deliberately puts the book down and picks up his phone. He straightens in his chair and browses through the numbers until he reaches Chris’s. Then he just sits there. It’s after eleven on a Friday night. Chris will be out, he probably won’t hear the phone, and then he’ll just have a missed call from Jess on it when he goes home from the club. How pathetic. Or worse; he’ll pick up and won’t be out, but busy readying a space for the company, maybe he’ll be painting, plastering, all tired and excited. Jess swallows, lowers the phone and looks out at the night lit street, and tries to get past his fuzzy reflection in the window. 

The phone buzzes in his hand and he twitches where he sits. It’s a message from an unidentified number, and he opens it: ‘Desperate yet? ;)’ There’s a surge in his belly and his heartbeat picks up. The wheel spins. He turns the phone off, without deleting the message. 

He gets ready to go to bed, but freezes in the corridor staring at the mirror, at Rory’s postcard stuck in its frame. After a minute he loosens it from its place and turns it over.

It didn’t arrive in November like she predicted but that’s about when it reached him. She had sent it to Luke’s, where it had wound up in a never ending pile of brochures, papers and catalogues which Luke hadn’t gotten around to sorting through until well into fall. By then him and Lorelai were an item, Jess was working the diner on Sundays and Rory had started joining him. Luke left the postcard among Jess’s behind the counter books and that’s where he found it, with a postage stamp from sometime in late July. 

Ponte Vecchio looked like something from a fairy tale, bathed in golden light and he knew the place from movies. On the back she had written: “Dear Jess,” the words were bold, like she had filled them in a few times, then a new line, in slightly more fluent handwriting, “people always say how postcards don’t do its places justice, but I kind of feel like this one does.” Then a new line, in different ink: “I don't know what to write, it's funny how I've been wanting to send this the entire trip but can't figure out what to say.” A new line, and finally: “I miss you. Yours, Rory.” He saw her there before his inner eye. A moment frozen in time, sent his way, just months back but so long ago, and either way too late. 

He never mentioned it finally arriving to her. It had become irrelevant, he told himself. That and other things: She was busy with school and had gotten involved with The Life and Death Brigade and this unreal, rich guy. Things were falling into place, fitting neatly to the memory of her getting into that car, the chauffeur taking the suitcase off her hands, opening the door to her, the tinted windows, there, but not there, she was a dream, just a dream, and he had to get real.

After work the next day he goes out for beers with Clyde and the kid who as it turns out just turned twenty-one, at least according to his only slightly weird-looking ID. Nobody cares anyway, Clyde picks the place, which is a crappy bar with darts and a pool table, half empty save a handful of trusted patrons. Clyde and the kid discuss the music while Jess stays a beer ahead of them. 

Four ill-informed drinks into the evening he starts fiddling with his phone, opens Shane’s message, and stares at it until he can’t anymore.

“Excuse me.” He gets out of his seat and heads out into the alley for privacy while screwing himself over.

He opens the message again and its number. His thumb hovers the call button, his head spins, and then his phone rings, right there in his hand. The screen lights up and Luke’s name appears on it. Jess exhales sharply and pushes the call through.

“Yeah?” 

“Is that really how people answer their phones?”

“Hi, uncle Luke.”

“Knowing you that’s hardly better, a simple hello would be fine.”

Jess sighs.

“May I help you?”

Luke clears his throat and when he speaks again he sounds slightly less grumpy.

“That’s what I’m calling to see. I could use your help here next week. Do you get time off?”

Jess stifles another sigh.

“Rarely.” He decides to seize the moment. “Actually, about that, tomorrow-”

“I know what happened, you can cut the bullshit.” Luke says tightly.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, Lorelai tells me stuff, eventually.” He mutters. “And Rory knows you bolted last Sunday too, pretty sure she can take a hint, going to Yale and all.”

“I-”

“Anyway, I didn’t call to give you an earful, I called to see about this week.” Luke goes on, matter-of-factly.

“I don’t know, Luke-”

“It’s kind of an all hands on deck situation.” 

Jess groans.

“Well, in that case, can’t TJ help out with whatever it is?” 

“Oh! You’re hilarious.” Luke exclaims and Jess has to smile, the first one for what feels like weeks. “But, Jess, I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t really need you around.”

Jess’s vision goes blurry. It’s sudden and he blames the drinks. Call Luke, ask for help, or don’t, but let him offer it, take it, no matter what shape it comes in.

“Fine. When do you need me there?”

“Preferably tomorrow to help out with the diner, but Monday to start on the actual project.”

“Aren’t you gonna tell me-?”

“Nope.”

Jess rolls his eyes.

“Oki-doki. Be there in a flash.”

“Thanks.” Luke hangs up.

Jess stands in the alley for a minute to let himself feel the ground under his feet again. Then he heads back inside to talk to Clyde while he’s still a happy drunk. It’s quick. It helps that the kid is overly confident, saying he can handle several weeks on his own should it come to that. and Jess encourages his nonsense before excusing himself for the evening. 

He wakes up slightly later than usual the next morning, and his head hurts. He still feels better than he has for the last week and a half, and he gets out of bed almost immediately, tossing some clothes into a duffel bag, locking up the apartment and driving to Stars Hollow. March has turned to April and you can tell when you leave the city, something about the light and colors.

He’s late to the diner and Lane is already there, but Luke doesn’t give him lip about it. He just smiles, pats Jess’s shoulder and is out the door within minutes of him arriving, too fast for him to get a chance to ask about the broken window between the diner and the Soda Shoppe.

“Where were you last week?” Lane asks him as he ties an apron around himself. ”I came by for lunch and you weren’t here.”

“Had to work.”

“Oh, and this is your hobby?” She quips.

He chuckles.

“What did I miss?”

“Boatloads!” Lane says. “Turns out Sophie Bloom is the Sophie Bloom from my album, old man Twickham died-”

“No way.” Jess pours coffee for the two of them.

“Yeah, he’s been dying so many times eventually you stop believing in it.”

“Right.”

“So, anyway they’re turning his place into some kind of museum.”

“Wow.” 

“And, I saved the best for last,” Lane goes tapping her fingers against the counter in a drumroll, eyes glimmering, “Luke threw a frying pan at Taylor!”

“What?”

“It was great! And that’s what happened to the window.”

“Can’t believe I missed it.” Jess grouches.

“Yeah, what’s up with that? You haven’t missed a Sunday in what- six months? And where is Rory?”

Apparently valid observations, to which Jess has no answer that he feels right about offering. He doesn’t want to lie to Lane, and he doesn’t want to tell her the truth since she’s first and foremost Rory’s friend. So, he just grabs the coffee pot and heads out among the tables to serve the guests while ignoring Lane’s quizzical look after him. But yeah, for more than a moment he feels bad about dodging her question, and not only for her sake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Well, here we are, Mr. Pilgrim, trapped in the amber of this moment. There is no why." - Kurt Vonnegut


	10. Only Only Call Me Thine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously on Gilmore Girls: Rory has stayed busy; Christopher apologised to her, and Logan ended things between them. Meanwhile Jess has stayed in Hartford and worked hard too, and now he’s back in Stars Hollow to help Luke with his mystery project. But it doesn’t change the fact that he and Rory haven’t spoken since the Tarantino-party. Okay. So, maybe I’ve been a bit unfair in my tags, maybe there’s nothing wrong with their intelligence, maybe the issue is with their hearts; Rory clearly suffers from some serious trust issues, and for good reason, Jess too, but like, with himself. Still, they’re the heroes of this story because I believe in them, I have to believe they can fix this too.

_ April _

_ Jess _

Luke makes the extra bed and Jess falls asleep on Sunday night to the sound of his uncle snoring, the fridge buzzing, and the lack of city sounds. He feels raw lying there, not knowing what the week will bring but choosing to let Luke take the reins. 

He sleeps better than he has in weeks, and wouldn’t mind keeping that up, but whatever Luke has planned apparently demands getting up early. Luke forces him to have breakfast saying he’ll need it, and then they make their way along all the old streets, named after fruit, behind the church. Jess is still working on the piece of toast he’s brought when they reach a huge red brick building with a porch built in between thick white pillars, and he freezes mid-chew when he hears Taylor’s voice. 

“What the-?” Jess starts but Luke interrupts him.

“Keep your swearing to a minimum please.”

“What for?” Jess spots Taylor up on the porch and swallows what’s left in his mouth. “Luke, what’s going on?”

Luke doesn’t answer, but puts a hand on his shoulder ushering him into motion again.

“Morning, Taylor.” He says, sounding like his voice is straightening its back. 

Jess frowns at him, and Taylor too.

“What are you doing here?” The town selectman asks.

“I volunteered, remember?”

“I don’t get the joke.” Taylor says.

“Me neither.” Jess adds.

Luke starts gesturing. 

“There’s no joke! I’m at your disposal, Taylor. And I brought back-up.” He points at Jess who cowers beside him.

“Back-up, huh?” Taylor squints at him. “Sounds like you’re expecting a fight.”

“Taylor, no. I just figured the more the better.”

Taylor turns his critical gaze on Jess, who struggles to not look outright hostile.

“I thought you specialised in demolition.” Taylor says.

Jess actually laughs, it’s a surprise.

“Not for a couple of years.” He says.

Taylor looks back at Luke, leans his face in close, like he can see through him that way.

“What’s your angle?” He says, but is interrupted by the arrival of his mobile office.

While Taylor gestures and yells for it to be put in its correct place Jess sticks his elbow in Luke’s side and glares at him, but Luke just shakes his head. 

Taylor calls for everyone to enter the house and Jess walks reluctantly behind his uncle. The other volunteers gather in the oversized hall and Jess spots Kirk, Gypsy, and recognises Kyle, one of Dean’s friends. He looks away quickly but Kyle leans over and pokes his arm with his hook.

“Hey, I know you don’t I?” He asks.

“We went to school together.” Jess admits.

“Really?”

“I skipped a lot.”

“Oh.” Kyle says, then his mouth widens in a goofy grin. “Anyway, I thought I’d lend a hand.”

Jess manages a startled smile.

“Good one.” He leans over to Luke and hisses his name, but Luke just shushes him.

Meanwhile Kyle keeps glancing at Jess as if there’s something he’s missing.

“What the hell are you two doing here?” Gypsy asks with a suspicious glare.

“I can’t keep answering this question.” Luke mutters, and Jess goes into defensive mode.

“Right back at ya.” H e hisses at Gypsy, but the interaction is interrupted by Taylor.

“We’re embarking on a wonderful adventure. Right here, we’ll display Mr. Twickham’s impressive collection of memorabilia-”

Jess processes this information while Taylor keeps talking, without getting any wiser. He only snaps out of his thoughts at the sound of Luke’s voice.

“Sounds good.”

Sounds good? What the heck is Luke doing? Taylor goes on.

“I took the liberty of doing up some fun shirts that we all can wear. Everyone, put one on.”

Kirk starts handing out bright orange t-shirts. The volunteers put them on, and Luke is the quickest of the lot. Jess blinks, and puts on the horrifying shirt.

“Now, before we begin, I’d like us all to join hands.” Taylor says stretching his open hands from his sides in a hunt for others.

Jess turns his head sharply to Luke with what he imagines must be a desperate expression, but Luke steadfastly ignores him and Jess feels the cold steel of Kyle’s hook on his right hand and hears Gypsy mumble something about Taylor being a perv. 

“Let’s close our eyes and visualise our goal.”

“Wow.” Jess mouths, and tightens his hand around Luke’s.

“Ouch.” Luke growls through the corner of his mouth.

“You only have yourself to blame.” Jess growls back.

The awkward circle doesn’t last for long, but Taylor holds onto Luke so Jess makes his way into one of the corners, opens a box and starts unpacking without even registering the items he picks out. He tries to read the lips of Taylor and his uncle who remain uncomfortably close in the middle of the room, but he doesn’t stand a chance, and can’t hear the conversation over all the rustling newspaper. He abandons the box and steps closer to Luke, arriving just as Taylor tells him that he likes this new side of him. Taylor leaves and Luke examines his hand. Jess grabs his shirt and pulls him off to the side.

“You and I are having a conversation.”

“I swear to god if one more person grabs me-” Luke starts.

“Why are you being Taylor’s lap dog?”

“What are you talking about?” It’s almost endearing how terrible a liar his uncle is.

“You wanna help out, sure, it’s a little weird, but doing it and trying to stay on the Town Selectman’s good side?” Jess squints at Luke. ”What the heck is going on?”

“He’s not just the Town Selectman, you know.” Luke says, rubbing the hand Taylor held on to. “He’s the head of the Historical Society too.”

“So?” Jess objects. “He’s also Chairman of the Town Beautification Committee, from what I hear a very vocal notary of the PTA even if he has no children, and Gavel-man at every town meeting- These are reasons to give him a hard time, to buy up buildings he’d otherwise acquire, to throw frying pans his direction, he already has Kirk for all his henchman-stuff-”

“In two months he’ll decide what to do with this house.” Luke interrupts.

Jess raises his eyebrows.

“You want the house.” He states.

Luke shushes him again. 

“Does Lorelai know about this?” Jess asks.

“Nah.”

“You think maybe she should?”

“Don’t you tell her anything!” Luke hisses and Jess raises his hands in surrender. “And I’m not like you. I don’t do words.”

Jess scoffs. His uncle doesn’t do words, but thinks he does. He shakes his head with a disbelieving smile. His uncle is trying to acquire a house from his nemesis in absolute secrecy. It’s a dumb move to not tell Lorelai. It’s a dumb, dumb move. And of course Jess has his back.

“Stop smiling like that.” Luke mutters.

“Never.” Jess responds and gets back to work.

Through the next few days he’s a model volunteer, he does whatever Luke asks of him and holds back every snarky response or sarcastic salute at Taylor’s nonsense, and he even feels okay about it. He’s pretty sure that this uncharacteristic chipperness is the sole reason Kyle never places him as the object of his pal Dean’s hatred. 

All in all, he’s doing so much better than in Hartford. He tries to not think about it though, what it means. That Hartford will still be there, waiting, when he’s done here. That he’s much happier under his uncle’s roof, where he wakes up to some grander albeit idiotic purpose.

On Thursday they’re eating dinner up in Luke’s tiny kitchen, some advanced fish dish tasting strongly of cilantro. 

“So, you feel like telling me what you and Rory fought about?” Luke says.

Jess stops chewing, swallows his food, and sighs.

“Do I really have to?”

“I guess not.” Luke says. “Assuming you don’t mind me jumping to my own conclusions.”

“I’m thinking they’ll be fairly accurate.” Jess allows.

Luke taps his fingers on the table’s surface apparently in search of words.

“You know, you deserve to be happy.” He finally says. “Same as anyone else, just because you don’t have their money-”

Jess interrupts him.

“It’s not about money, Luke. Not to me.” It's about being worthy, but he doesn’t say that, it’s too much.

Luke seems to catch on anyway, because he gives him a small smile before resuming his meal. They eat in silence for a minute.

“Are you okay?” Luke asks.

“Like, in general or-?”

“Jess.”

He swallows, and answers.

“I'm a bit stressed out.”

“Why is that?”

“I have things to do in Hartford, I gotta get a new roommate for one thing.”

“Right.” Luke takes another bite of food but keeps speaking while chewing. “The one who went to Philadelphia- didn't he want you to go with?”

Jess forces a laugh that feels like biting into a piece of lemon.

“Yeah, he thought I could handle a business in addition to myself.”

“And you could,” Luke immediately goes, “I've seen you around the diner, you'd have no problems doing that for yourself. It was some publishing business, right? Good fit for you and your book habit.”

Jess feels like he’s losing his balance, and grimaces, hopefully managing a dismissive expression.

“I barely write.”

There’s a pause that seems to go on forever while his careless words sink in, both with him and Luke, who smiles.

“You write?”

“I thought I did words?” Jess says, defensively.

Luke’s smile widens, while Jess sighs.

“But what the heck am I gonna do with that?”

“That thing in Philly is apparently an option.” Luke says, redirecting his attention to his meal.

Jess grunts and shakes his head, taking a big bite of food, to finish the conversation.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to confide in his uncle, who might have a point about him ’doing words’, as he put it, it’s just that he’s better at writing them down. He does keep notebooks, goes through them actually, but speaking any of what he puts in there? He tries sometimes, and it’s almost always painful - except with Rory, or, no, still painful, just not in a bad way. 

Luke’s the only grown man Jess has ever loved, but Luke doesn’t do ambiguity very well, especially not when it comes to his nephew; He gets defensive, or protective, or assertive in the worst way, demands something happen, something change. He’s a doer, so Jess became a doer too, so that they could communicate in a comfortable way. And now, here they are, helping out with the least legitimate museum Jess has ever come across, doing something, even if it’s dumb.

Then it’s Friday and the opening of the Wickham Museum is one day away. By now he’s gotten so used to hearing Luke drone on in agreement with Taylor that he immediately pays attention when his uncle objects to Taylor’s take on the Washington letter from 1944. Taylor seems to take it in his stride, and disappears through the front door, but then, seconds later, Kyle walks into the room.

“Hey Jess.”

“Yeah?”

“Taylor wants to see you in his office.”

Jess trades an incredulous look with Luke on his way out. He knocks at the door of the module and Taylor invites him in.

“Ah, Jess. Sit down, won’t you? I need you to liaise with your uncle for me. Please communicate that if he’s going to disagree with me, I’d rather he didn’t do it in front of the crew. That George Washington letter; I was humiliated.”

“Okay.” Jess says, feeling like a worm on a hook.

Taylor furrows his brow, and looks at Jess, expression split between insult and fear.

“You think I was humiliated?” 

“No.” Jess assures, shaking his head for emphasis and to hide the smile that threatens to break out across his lips.

“Good.” Taylor sounds pleased. “It’s probably safest for him not to disagree with me at all, don’t you think?”

“I’ll pass it on.” Jess gets up, beyond relieved to get to end the conversation.

“Good. You know I can’t recall why I used to have such a bad feeling about you.”

“Thanks.” Jess manages, impressed that he keeps his voice so calm.

Taylor’s walkie-talkie beeps, and Kirk’s voice crackles through it.

“The carpenter is here, Taylor.”

“Copy that. Uh, tell Luke to liaise with him, would you?”

“Ten-four.” Jess answers and turns his face away to not lose it.

When he steps out of Taylor crazy-hut he finds Luke struggling to break up a mannequin-fight between Kirk and Kyle.

“Taylor wanted to tell me to tell you that when you argue with him in front of other people it makes him sad.”

Luke grunts in response.

“Please tell me we can kill him when we’re done here.”

“Sorry, no can do.” Luke answers.

“Also he wanted you to deal with the carpenter.” Jess gestures in the direction of the truck that’s just pulled up, but freezes when he sees that it’s Dean who’s unloading it. 

Luke is raising his hand in greeting, when Dean spots them and immediately shifts his expression to hostility. Shit. Jess exchanges a look with Luke, and realises that his uncle looks equally bothered by Dean’s presence.

“What is his beef with you, anyway?” He asks.

“Long story,” Luke grunts, “I never liked the guy, I may have had him in a headlock a few years back, but I thought he was over it- Wait, what’s his beef with you?”

Jess just raises his eyebrows at him and he nods.

“Figures.”

Jess scratches his head.

“So, that bit of liaising you’re meant to conduct might be tricky.”

“Yeah.” Luke taps his foot. “I wonder who he hates the most?”

“That would be me.” 

“Sure about that?”

“Oh yeah.” Jess immediately goes, but holds out his fist. “Rock paper scissors? Loser liases?”

“Please.” Luke mutters, but holds out his fist anyway, and immediately loses. “Shoot.” He sighs and heads for the truck.

Jess remains in his place and tries to be sneaky about watching Luke’s interaction with Dean, but fails miserably when Kyle falls into him, half a mannequin still in his arms, landing on his side giggling hysterically. Jess straightens, mumbling cuss words and is about to reprimand Kyle, but Luke comes marching back looking absolutely fuming.

“You okay?”

“It’s nothing.” Luke mutters. “He’s all set,” he gestures at Dean before heading into the house. 

Jess looks in the direction of Dean whose eyes are already on him while he smiles; A malignant, pleased smirk that makes Jess go cold. He turns back to Kyle offering to help him up. Kyle grabs his hand with the one he still has left and pulls himself to standing.

“Hey,” he says, eyes darting between Jess and Dean by the truck, “I remember you now.”

Kyle walks off with his half a mannequin, and Jess just stands his ground, keeping his expression even. He doesn’t turn to see if Dean is looking at him, but heads into the house to look for Luke. He finds his uncle in a back room in the process of pulling off his horrible orange t-shirt without it sticking to his flannel shirt.

“What happened?”

Luke gestures dismissively.

“He was just being a little prick about me and Lorelai.”

“Just?” Jess goes.

“He’s a freaking kid, what does he know about life?” Luke finally gets his t-shirt off, in a jagged motion.

“Hey.” Jess objects.

“Fine, what does a kid like that-” Luke points, “-know, period!” He tosses the t-shirt on the floor.

“Not a lot.” Jess mumbles, picking up the garment. 

“I mean, where does he get off-?” Luke sounds like he’s about to go off on a rant, but stops, gesturing toward the floor. “I should get going, I have to pick up a cannonball in Mystic.” He stomps out of the room.

Jess folds the shirt placing it on a chair. Great. This is just what Luke and Lorelai need, another bump in the road. No way he’s leaving Luke on his own with that guy again. So, when Luke drives off with Taylor, Jess sticks around, finding things to do when he runs out. He does it coolly, deliberately, even when he catches Dean and Kyle muttering in a corner, heads together, he keeps working. 

Then Luke gets back; It’s late and he’s obviously in a terrible mood, Taylor talking his ear off, and the ball rolling around in the back of the truck. Taylor recruits Dean to help carry the thing, but Jess hurries and bumps Luke out of the way. 

And so, Jess and Dean wind up making their way toward the house carrying a hundred pound metal ball between them. Dean glares at Jess who stares right back. Then Dean pulls up a corner of his mouth.

“I hear you’re pretty cosy with Rory. You guys must be, like, having an open relationship, with her going to college and all.” His voice is soft and low so Taylor won’t hear.

Jess chews on his lower lip and squints, like he’s thinking real hard about something.

“I bet I could drop this with pretty solid precision.” He looks at the cannonball between them and then at Dean’s feet. “Are those steel-toed boots?”

Dean stops smiling.

“Mention her again and I guess we’ll find out.” Jess finishes.

“Where do you want it, Taylor?” Dean asks, in a slightly higher pitched voice than normal.

“On the lawn will be fine.”

Dean looks back at Jess, who smiles, like he’s playing chicken, and Dean drops the ball while stepping away from it at the same time, folding his long body around its curve. It looks ridiculous.

Jess and Luke walk back to the diner a while later and Jess clenches and unclenches his fists, too lost in thought, too distracted by his feelings catching up with him to notice that Luke is completely quiet, until they’re getting ready for bed.

“What’s up?”

“I’m having second thoughts about this.” Luke mutters.

“What? Why?” Jess objects. “‘Cause of the cannonball run? ‘Cause of Dean? Don’t let him get to you.”

Luke sighs deeply but nods, with a tight smile on his lips, then goes to bed. 

Jess lies awake though, wondering what sound a cannonball landing on a foot would make, with a familiar fire burning in his chest. The wheel is still spinning, slowing, where will it stop? Hartford might be waiting, might be worse than this, but it’s the same thing wherever he goes. It’s not about the place, it’s about him, how he keeps himself locked inside, wound too tightly, just maintaining defenses. He’ll piss someone off, someone will push him too far, he won’t talk about it, he’ll drop the fucking ball, he’ll do time at Cheshire correctional, he’ll get out, still locked up. He keeps his notebooks tucked away in shoeboxes when he’s filled them, they never lay around. The only ones who know about them are Chris and Rory. 

Rory.

Before he got to know her, her life seemed ridiculous. Sure, she looked like a princess in that debutante dress and it stirred something... worrying in him, but it wasn’t real, just a getup for a costume party as far as he was concerned. Then when he knew her, fell for her, yearned for her, but the problem was always her asshole boyfriend, not the high society he vaguely registered she had a foot in. Even when he saw her that night she left for Europe it was more about where she was headed than who she was. And yeah, he detests Dean who thinks he owns her, still, and Logan who doesn’t seem to see how extraordinary she is, to whom she’s just another girl to not date. But they’re not the problem. 

It’s a goddamned cop-out is what it is, he sees that now; He was freaked and refused to think about why. It was easier to be jealous, and blame the guys she was seeing. He didn’t understand, but now, after everything that has happened, he does. He understands what it means, how overwhelming it is, how demanding. It embraces her regardless of her will and pulls, pushes, provides. He will never be part of it. He’ll never dress right enough, behave well enough, or even make enough money to earn a place in it. It’s a rival he’ll never beat. 

But he can make his own place in the world, do something brave that he can be proud of, that he won’t have to dance in rings around or make up pretty titles for.

He’s in love with Rory Gilmore, can’t deny it anymore. And that means he has to start acting accordingly.

* * *

_ Rory _

It’s Friday Night Dinner again and Emily and Richard stay focused on exchanging pleasantries about the Inn with Lorelai a good bit into their meal, but then… Rory sees it coming too late. She has an awkward feeling and then finally pinpoints that Lorelai’s personal life being so off limits means that they’re more dependent on hers for entertainment. She’s barely finished the thought when Emily speaks.

“So, Rory, how are things with your- with- what was his name again?” She turns to Richard for the information, like she has to, like it’s not meant to be derogatory.

“Mariano, Jess Mariano, I believe.” He smiles at Emily and winks at Rory, who has to swallow down the sting in her throat.

She considers lying, Lorelai would back her up either way, she knows that. But she’s tired, all at once, can’t bear to lie about him anymore, it feels too real.

“Actually,” she starts weakly, “we’re not-” she can’t finish.

“You’re not seeing him anymore?” Emily asks, almost a predatory note in her voice.

“No, I guess not.” Rory manages.

There’s a few seconds of silence, of peace and pain.

“Well, c’est la vie.” Emily says.

Rory looks at her sharply, can’t make out her grandmother’s expression completely, it seems split between some grim austerity and cynicism. Lorelai glances at her while chewing, it seems casual, but Rory knows she’s on edge.

“I suspect there will be plenty of other suitable candidates waiting when you’re ready.” Richard says, aiming to be reassuring, but it doesn’t feel like that.

“Oh, absolutely.” Emily says, without missing a beat. “For one thing, Logan Huntzberger and you seemed very friendly at our renewal, and he was such a big help that night.” She doesn’t specify how he helped, too dangerous.

Rory feels something twist in her throat and has to let it out. It’s a laugh. A short, awful sounding thing that startles her, and probably the rest of the people around the table too judging from their faces. She stares at Emily for a moment while it hits her; Her grandmother will never let it go. Lorelai is right; This strategy of trying to appease her with compromises won’t do any good. She has to finish this. She smiles.

“I’ll handle my own love life, thank you.”

Emily actually chuckles in response.

“And how has that worked out so far?”

“Not very well, I’ll admit.” Rory nods, biting the inside of her cheek. “But I’ve learned a few things lately.”

“Oh? Like what?”

She shrugs, and calmly prepares a fork with the different elements of the meal.

“Some things about love.” She looks at her grandmother. “Some things about you.”

She takes the bite and chews while meeting Emily’s eyes until she looks away. They finish the visit soon thereafter, the conversation isn’t quite able to recover. 

“You stayed pretty cool back there.” Lorelai remarks in the car back to Stars Hollow.

“At last.” Rory answers, picking at her sleeve. “So, what’s the plan this weekend?” 

“The Twickham museum opens tomorrow and we’re going. What?” Lorelai asks when Rory grimaces.

“Nothing, I’m just, tired.”

“That’s because it’s nighttime, also, when have you ever passed on an opportunity to make fun of any project of Taylor’s?” Lorelai objects.

“It’s fine, we’ll go.” Rory forces a smile.

“We have to! Luke has been working on this all week, I haven’t seen him once in five days.”

Rory raises her eyebrows.

“Luke is on the same project as Taylor?”

Lorelai smiles widely.

“I know! Isn’t that reason enough to go?”

“I guess.”

Lorelai stops smiling.

“Wow, now I’m worried.”

Rory’s instinct is to deflect, but she’s too slow.

”Rory?”

”Me and Logan broke up.” She says before taking time to think about it.

Lorelai’s mouth falls open, like she’s surprised,

”Oh, honey.”

Rory scoffs.

”At least I think we did, I mean, it wasn’t really overt, but does it have to be when you never really officially dated to begin with? So many questions.”

Lorelai closes her mouth.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. No. I mean I’m okay with it, but I’m not okay. My life’s a mess, mom.” She sighs sharply. “I ruined everything.” She shakes her head. “It worked out exactly as you said- don’t you just hate being right all the time?-” She bites her lip. “-and the way Luke thought it would. We haven’t spoken in over two weeks-”

“We?”

“Jess and me. The last time that happened...” She falls quiet, hasn’t told anyone about how bad it was. 

“Did you call him?”

“No.” She answers despite knowing what’s coming.

“But Rory-”

She interrupts her mother.

“We’re not really equipped to handle what we are, I think.” 

“And what are you?”

Rory stares at her mother in mute frustration.

”Just- spilling over the edges.”

Lorelai tilts her head to the side. Outside the car window the night keeps passing. Rory’s almost lost in it when her mother speaks again.

“What did you learn?”

Rory’s heart skips a beat from the familiar words.

“Huh?”

“About love, you told Emily you’d learned a few things about love lately, what?”

Rory tries to put together an answer. She’s read so many books, and feels like she’s learned so little. 

“I guess I don’t think it can be manhandled the way grandma seems to think.”

Lorelai smiles.

“Nope.”

But it can be corrupted, Rory thinks, worn out and minced down by the right amount of force, over time. Her life is what it is, it hasn’t changed just because she told Emily to butt out of it. It may be an inhospitable environment for the kind of love she wants. 

“I’m not sure I wanna need him like I do.” She mumbles.

Lorelai’s face changes, there’s pity there, and guilt. 

“I’ve encouraged you to put your trust in people who didn’t deserve it before.” She says. “I won’t do that again.” She stares intently at the wheel. “But you don’t always get a choice in who you trust, or need.”

Rory leans her head against the window.

“That sucks.” 

Lorelai shrugs.

“You could probably do worse in that respect. I mean, I know he has a different last name, but I’m starting to think he really is a Danes-guy, at least after what Luke tells me.” 

They pull up on their driveway.

”And I know all about your mess, mine’s the same, remember? I know what it’s like to feel like everything attached to you is just, a landslide. But you can’t let it carry you off, you have to hold the line, dig your heels in.” Lorelai smiles, a little inward smile, and it’s clear what she’s thinking, then she looks up at Rory again. “Listen, come with us to the Museum thing tomorrow, nothing like a little Stars Hollow insanity to clear things up.”

Rory doesn’t get a chance to answer because Paris and Kirk are waiting on the porch, the latter with a note attached to his jacket signed by the Maddis family. After an hour of logistics surrounding their surprise guests she just excuses herself and goes to bed.

Saturday comes and she wakes up in her old room, her old bed, and is instantly reminded of the lowkey absurdity of her life when the sound of weekend morning cartoons trickle in through her closed door and she realises that’ll be Kirk and Paris watching TV in their pyjamas. She gets a text from Lane asking her to meet her at the museum and settles on going. She dresses in jeans and a black zip up shirt- an outfit that didn’t make the Yale cut- and grimaces at herself in the mirror. Paris seems amused by the idea of the museum, and Kirk is volunteering, so they all wind up there when it opens right before lunch. 

Luke is already there and eager to escort Lorelai and Sookie inside so they split up, Rory and Paris staying outside waiting for Lane. Paris can’t stop obsessing over Doyle. Rory takes the phone off of her hands and tries to warn her about Miss Patty’s punch, but it is to no avail when Lane shows up, looking glum, and also deems drinking alcohol the best strategy.

They sit at the table in the far corner of the Twickham garden. Rory sips the punch slowly having witnessed her mother getting too much too soon before, but neither Paris nor Lane possess the necessary experience or self preservation presently and really seem to be in a mood when it comes to taking reasonable advice from friends. 

Lane tells her story, and a disbelieving laugh bursts out of Rory. 

“Zack and Sophie? No way!” She says.

Lane glares at her.

“You don’t know. He came on to your mom!”

“Everyone comes onto my mom!”

“You know,” Paris starts. “You should go confront him right now.”

“Oh good.” Rory mutters under her breath.

“Or the music-lady,” Paris goes on, “try to appeal to her sense of sisterhood, she’s probably enough of a hippie to buy into that mumbo-jumbo.” 

“You should go confront a cup of coffee.” Rory tries, but no one listens, and within fifteen minutes her friends are on their second cups of punch, while she’s still working on her first.

“This is tasty.” Paris goes.

“I’m thirsty, this punch makes you thirsty.” Lane remarks. “But tell me about Doyle.”

“That little weasel.” Paris exclaims. “Hasn’t called me in nearly two weeks.”

“You should go talk to him.” Lane says. “March right up to his face with your face and tell him this won’t stand.”

“Okay,” Rory goes, “it’s getting a little too crazy here, you’re gonna have to cool it or I’m taking away the punch.”

Both her friends dive toward their cups, clutching them defensively.

“You have no power here, Gilmore!” Paris bursts out. “You’re in the same situation as we are.”

“What are you talking about?” Rory whines.

“Yeah,” Lane says, “what are you-” then she twitches in her seat and turns to Rory. “Is this about Jess?”

“Jess?” Paris goes. “I’m talking about Logan.” She pierces Rory with a stare. “What happened to Huntzberger, huh?”

“What happened with Logan?” Lane asks.

“This is not about anything with anyone!” Rory protests and points at Paris. “You’re just projecting your issues onto me but in reality they’re nothing alike, and you-” she points at Lane, “-are too inexperienced to know what’s what. Zach took his time getting together with you because you live together and play in the same band together, I’m sure if he decides to end it he’ll do it in the same way and not sneak off with the music store owner-”

“But I don’t sleep with him!” Lane objects. “What if he just gets that somewhere else?”

“Oh, please!” Paris says, suddenly knee deep in the interaction with Lane who listens intently. “Sex is no guarantee for anything, take it from someone who knows. It’s really all about trust y’know? Where would you be without it?”

Trust. I don’t feel like trusting you right now. But she did trust him enough to ask him to do this insane thing with her. She has no choice in the matter of trusting him, and the absence of him these last couple of weeks are at once very palpable.

“You’d be nowhere.” Lane answers Paris’s rhetorical question.

“We are nowhere.” Paris establishes.

“And it’s now.” Lane mumbles into her cup.

“And what did you mean by Jess earlier?” Paris goes, attention back on Rory in an instant. “Have you been dabbling in two teams, bet on two horses-?”

“My god, Paris!” Rory groans. “If you insist on metaphors could you at least use functioning ones?”

“Don’t try to deflect your way outta this.”

“I’m not deflecting, I just don’t feel like talking about it.” Rory crosses her arms.

“You know a really good way of not having to talk is to drink.” Lane smiles.

“Right!” Paris says. “Some days are for talking, some are for drinking.”

Rory gives up and takes a real gulp out of her cup. She drinks quietly, sullenly, while listening to Paris’s and Lane’s insane theories feeling defeated for several reasons. It would be nice to be able to talk to her friends who tend to be more useful off Patty’s punch, but a part of her feels fairly certain that talking about it won’t help her at this point. So, she drinks instead. She even empties her cup before the second wave of insanity kicks in with her friends.

“That’s it! I’ve had it!” Lane jumps up. “I’m getting to the bottom of this!”

“Spank his bottom!” Paris cheers.

“No!” Rory exclaims. “I thought we settled on just discussing bad strategies, not executing them!”

“Get with the program Gilmore! It’s never just talking!”

“Or drinking!” Lane adds.

“Yeah. You gotta do. Consequences be damned!”

“Consequences?” Lane goes, voice distinctly lower.

“Days like these are days that shape your future, when you stop letting circumstances toss you around like a leaf on the wind and you become the wind!”

“Become the wind?”

“The gale, the storm, the tornado! Blow him away!”

“Paris, I don’t know...” Lane starts. “Rory, what do you think? Really?”

“Why would you ask her?” Paris protests. “She’d soar around aimlessly the rest of her life if she could get away with it.”

“Hey! I don’t soar aimlessly, I have aim, I’m aimful.”

Paris goes on arguing but Rory doesn’t listen since her pocket starts vibrating. She pulls out her phone but that’s not it, it’s Paris’s. She picks it out and squints at the screen. Paris is still ranting.

“Paris!” She says loudly. “You mentioned a tornado. How do you feel about an earthquake?”

Paris frowns at her, and she holds up the phone.

“Doyle!” She says triumphantly and tosses the phone to her angry friend who remarkably catches it despite her enhibriation, answers, and walks off.

Rory turns back to Lane. They look at each other for a second, then burst into laughter. 

“Sorry.” Lane says after a few moments. “I got the crazy gene from my mom, sometimes it gets the better of me.”

“I can relate.” Rory says.

“Can’t believe I almost confronted my boyfriend on Miss Patty’s punch!”

“It’s a rite of passage better skipped,” Rory says. “I’m proud of you.”

Lane smiles, but it fades fast now.

“What should I do?” She mumbles.

Rory stifles a sigh and prepares another speech on how nothing has been proven and there’s probably no need to do anything, but her thoughts are interrupted by the sound of upset voices. She and Lane look around but the noise is coming from the other side of the house. 

“Should we-?” Rory starts without finishing.

She and Lane start moving toward the sound on instinct but then it gets quiet. Lane opens her mouth to speak but is stopped by a tall figure rounding the corner and walking in their direction. 

Dean. Rory stops and holds out a hand to stop Lane too. He marches with big steps, his sleeve pulled over his hand and pressed against his nose. He’s clearly angry, but Rory realises, after a few seconds more than it would have taken her under normal circumstances, that he’s walking away from the ruckus, rather than toward them. Lane however, doesn’t.

“Not another step!” She belts. “Our friend knows Krav Maga and will be back any second!”

“Screw you, Lane!” He answers, somewhat muffled. “And you too, for good measure.” He says to Rory.

“Back at ya.” Rory manages before curiosity gets the better of her. “What happened to you?”

“This?” Dean moves his hand revealing a bloody nose. “Your boyfriend did this!”

She blinks at him, breathless at once.

“Jess?”

“You admit it.” He spits and has to cover his nose again.

Her mouth falls open, and she struggles to hold back a smile as it hits her, all of it. Become the wind. Hold the line. She takes an ill-advised step toward him, then looks up at his face, all sincerity.

“You were right.” She says. “To be jealous.” She takes a breath of relief as the words finally fall into some sequence that makes sense to her, that might change things for them. “Nothing happened, but I was in love with him.” His eyes widen at her admission. “I didn’t love you right. And you don’t love Lindsey right.” 

He reacts just as one might expect, with a scowl, and an attempt to leave. She remains in her place but raises her voice and hurries her words so he won’t miss it. 

“How would she feel if she knew how much you hate me?” 

He’s already passed her but she knows he stops at her question. She glances over her shoulder at his frozen back until he starts moving again, slower this time, but away from them.

Moments pass and Lane exhales loudly.

“Wow!” She flaps a hand in front of her face. “That was intense.”

“Yup.”

“Jess did that to him?”

“I didn’t even know he was in town.” Rory breathes.

“For a week now.” Lane says. “He’s been helping out with the museum.” 

Rory frowns in disbelief, but Lane doesn’t register it, her face is alive with the drama of the moment.

“And you,” she says excitedly, “you finished him!” She gestures in Deans direction. ”With your words! Fatality!”

A slightly desperate, short laugh bursts out of Rory.

“Good for you.”

“Yes!” Rory agrees.

“Good for Jess.” Lane purrs.

“Maybe not.” Rory mumbles concerned at the thought.

“You finally said it, that you were in love with him.” Lane says, a not so small hint of admiration in her voice, that forces Rory to smile.

“I did, didn’t I?” She presses her palms to her cheek, they feel hot.

Lane smiles.

“Well, I was thinking I should go find Zach. What do you think?”

“I think you should,” Rory nods, but grasps her friend’s arm before she has a chance to start moving, “just not to confront him, but maybe Paris has a point about just doing something.” 

Lane’s smile gets wider and she nods before leaning in and pecking Rory’s cheek.

“Thank you.” She turns and walks away.

Rory watches Lane as she turns the corner of the building. Then she gazes up at the tree tops moving lazily with the wind. The buds are in different stages of opening revealing shades of bright green. It’s such a pretty day, funny how she didn’t see it before.

“Rory!” Lorelai’s voice.

Rory turns in the direction of the sound and sees Lorelai walking across the grass in her direction, Luke is behind her, with a small but sweet smile on his face. Rory meets her mother halfway.

“Hi!”

“Wow!” Lorelai says waving her hand in front of her face. “You've been drinking the punch? Have you learned nothing from my mistakes?”

“Peer pressure:” Rory sticks out her lower lip and Lorelai laughs.

Luke catches up with them and a thought strikes Rory.

“So,” she starts tentatively, “did you just get back from the exhibition?”

“We walked right out from the diorama, my eyes are still getting used to the light. ”Lorelai blinks theatrically. “And let me tell you it was one for the books, you have to see it.”

“I’ll be sure not to miss it.”

“Yeah, the script was legendary, and you know Taylor’s instructions said no lewd behavior but it was very dark in there and-”

“Okay thank you!” Rory laughs.

She glances at Luke but he just smiles, a little red, she thinks, but if he knew about what supposedly went down with Jess and Dean, he'd look very different. The fact that neither him or Lorelai knows yet is probably just wild luck. She has to find Jess.

“So,” she says, making an effort to get them out of here. “Where are you headed now?”

“Back home,” Lorelai smiles, “we figured going now was the only way to have some privacy, before Kirk comes back and while you're busy playing with your friends.”

“Good!” Rory says, a bit too loudly, she clears her throat. “Actually Doyle called, so Paris is probably on her way back to Yale as we speak, and Lane went to hang out with Zach.”

“Oh, so you’ll just spend a few hours at the bookstore.” Lorelai states, mischievous smile on her lips.

“Yeah. Or, you know, see that amazing Diorama.”

“Excellent.” Lorelai says, kissing her cheek. “Later!”

“Later.” Rory responds and smiles at Luke as he passes her following her mother.

She looks at them as they walk away, reassured by them taking the back road to the house, the chances of them running into someone from the museum is minimal. As soon as they’re out of sight she starts walking in the opposite direction, toward the front of the Twickham house. Miss Patty is surrounded by a crowd, all partaking in her words and her punch. Rory doesn’t stop to listen though, too risky, instead she heads for the diner, it’s where he would go.

That thing she once called his m-o hasn’t been true for a while, even now when he has a better offer than working at the diner or Bookends, he still seems hell-bent on staying put. She knew it was about making amends to Luke, and liked that he was so serious about it, it said something about his character. But she’s been worried too, that he was missing out by being so wrapped up in what he owed someone else. They’ve seen each other at least once a week since last summer, he always picks up when she calls, yet she never once considered that he might’ve stayed put for her.

She arrives at Luke’s and it’s closed, the sign turned out and a note taped to the glass telling people about the museum. But she knows where Luke keeps his spare key and waits until no one is around before reaching to grasp it from the top of the door and letting herself in. She locks the door behind her and places the key on the counter, then stands still for a moment listening until she hears a shuffle from upstairs. Her heartbeat picks up and she climbs the stairs. She stops outside the door to the apartment, and swallows. 

Her life is what it is, an inhospitable mess unless she holds the line. Paris, unbelievably, is right; She’ll soar aimlessly, unless she decides not to. Consequences will be damned.

Her heart pounds so hard she can barely hear herself knocking, but then Jess opens the door, and everything goes quiet. He’s in a terrible orange t-shirt and black pants, hair in disarray, and a bruise across one cheekbone. She loses her train of thought and stares unabashed at it.

“What happened?” She asks despite already knowing.

His eyes, so far wide and light with anger, goes dark as he squints.

“What have you been drinking?”

She makes eye contact with a surprised exhale, she feels her mouth twitch at the haphazardly sewn together conversation.

“Miss Patty’s punch.” She shrugs.

“Yikes.”

“But nevermind that now!” She pushes by him and into the apartment, stops, turns and crosses her arms with a firmness she doesn’t quite possess at this particular per mille.

He tilts his head, obviously evaluating the state of her. Her eyes fall to his chest where a few stains, probably not tomato sauce, is clinging to the orange cloth. He follows her eyes and jaggedly pulls the shirt off himself revealing a white tank shirt underneath that rides up with the motion. He tosses the orange monstrosity into a corner and pulls down the tank with his other hand. She stares hypnotised, and forces the words out again to break the silence.

“What happened?”

“Dean happened. Fortunately I’m better in a tussle than him, with any luck I broke his nose.”

She stares at his hand, it’s red across the back. His fingers are moving, clenching and stretching.

“I met him.” She says. “You might’ve.”

He exhales, clearly annoyed.

“If you knew, then-?”

“Because I wanna hear you say it.” She interrupts. “Why were you fighting?”

Jess apparently drops his indignation and sighs.

“I lost it.” He mumbles. “He was talking shit about you, among other things. Telling him to fuck off didn’t help, he had his buddy with him so I guess he felt safe-”

“He’s always talking shit about me.” She breathes, like it doesn’t matter. 

“He was goading me and I fell for it.” He grumbles.

“Is this because I told you about what happened?” The words just slip out of her, she wouldn’t have dared to be this direct under any other circumstances.

He blinks. 

“I told you-”

“I know what you said.”

There’s a pause. Then he bites his lip, gnaws at it thinking.

“Maybe.” He finally says.

The happiness is sharp, burning, she has to take a breath to bear it.

“He didn’t hurt me, you know. It was consensual.” She manages.

“I know.”

“Still you hit him.”

“I know.”

“That doesn't make any sense.”

“Just because it’s not rational doesn’t make it senseless.”

“You might get in trouble.”

He shakes his head.

“Taylor had to break up the fight, and Kyle being there meant I was scandalously outnumbered.” 

Rory smiles widely, wildly, what is with today today?

“Taylor?”

“He seemed very disappointed in his protegé. Something about not fighting honorably.”

She laughs, a short, soundless breath, he smiles at her in response, and it feels like the floor is moving. 

“How’s your hand?”

He jerks at her words, raises his eyebrows, then shrugs.

“A bit achy, no worries.”

She takes a step closer and reaches for his hand. He surrenders it and she inspects it closer; the knuckles are slightly swollen, a little red. She turns it over and presses her lips to his palm. His breath is audible and she looks back at his face, so close now. His lips are slightly parted and his eyes- he looks equal parts defensive and vulnerable, she decides.

“You’re drunk.” He says, halfway to a whisper.

She nods, matter of factly.

“A little, probably wouldn’t have dared coming here otherwise.” She holds onto his hand and strokes her cheek to its inside.

He swallows, and she feels strange, elevated, daring.

“You want me to go away?” She mumbles. “Say the word.” 

She lets go of his hand, but he keeps it where it is, his fingers moving in the hair behind her ear. She reaches and grips the bottom of his shirt between her fingers, focusing her eyes in a loose thread there.

“Do you?”

“No.”

She smiles, just from that little word.

“Well, what do you want?”

She looks up at him and he’s watching her intently.

“Rory.” He whispers.

It's a plea, or an answer, but either way she can’t stand his eyes for long, they’re too dark, too sober, she lets her gaze drop to his mouth and then follows it with her lips. There’s a gust of breath at his sudden exhale and she wraps her arms around him listening to the hissing sound of her blood trying to break out of her veins, like steam from a tea kettle. His hands both grasp the back of her neck and he opens his mouth to hers. 

She’s dizzy in an instant and she takes a new grip of his shirt at its back, clings onto it with her fists. But then there’s the appeal of his warm skin so she lets go and puts her palms to his lower back, one hand follows his spine a bit up, and the other makes its way along the rim of his pants, fingers slipping inside. He makes a sound and tears his mouth from hers and she lets go of him, a bit startled. 

He takes deep, quick breaths and looks at her and she holds back a smile when she reads him as aroused and concerned at the same time, seems an unlikely combination, but she really likes it. There it is again, that thing that doesn’t feel like her, that daring thing. She doesn’t know why she can isolate and feel it separately now, like a woken limb, but she does, and she might have to recognise it as a permanent part of her. She’s done crazy things because of it, bad and good. 

She takes a step backwards and meets his serious eyes with her own exhilarated gaze. Her hands only shake a little when she raises them to the zipper of her shirt. For a split second she’s self-aware of the garment she wasn’t even sure about to begin with and her simple cotton bra that’s been through the washer a hundred times, and what panties did she choose again, now that she’s on the subject? But she has no chance of latching onto it because she watches him look when she pulls it down and it’s enough to make her weak at the knees; The way the feelings shift in his face, the hesitation becomes heated resolve. He steps up to her grasping the shoulders of her shirt and pulling it off her dropping it on the floor where they’re standing. He kisses her again and she enthusiastically responds to it, pushing back into it to make it clear it’s what she wants. 

She puts her hands back under his shirt revelling in the sensation of his skin and the muscles moving under it. She pulls herself closer, folding her body after his determined curve. Now he helps, his hands grip her waist and move down into the back pockets of her jeans, bending his fingers into her and pressing her closer to him. 

She has trouble keeping it together from sheer happiness, and all her longing, for him specifically, catches up with her, making its way into every heartbeat, her pulse a hard, rhythmic demand to let it out. Finally she cracks, a trembling moan making its way into their kiss. He pauses at her sound and puts the smallest of distance between them, his eyes darting between hers looking for something. She feels like she’s floating, and has not the time or the discipline for his inspection, but drags her lips across his cheek to his jaw and below. She kisses his neck, right below his ear and a shiver runs through him clear enough for her to feel it, and he leans his head to the side to make more space for her. Encouraged she repeats the move and feels his sound before she hears it, a vibration rising through his throat. 

It’s too much. There’s no way she can remain standing while kissing him like this. She starts nudging him in the direction of his bed. It’s neatly made, he has explained it as a side effect of sharing a space with no doors with someone, a necessary step to ensure respect of the place and the person you share it with. The back of his legs are pushed into the edge of the bed and he bends them sitting down. Like flowing water his hands fall to the back of her thighs pulling them to him. She straddles him and he kisses her neck. Her weight closes all distance between them and the warmth and hardness of him seems enough to collapse reality, so she tangles her fingers into his hair in a desperate grip. 

His hands abandon her back and move to her breasts, his thumbs moving over the in places threadbare cotton. Her breath hitches in her throat and she dares to let go of his hair to reach back and unhook the bra. She closes her eyes while she peels it off herself, concentrating on keeping her balance and what remains of her sanity. One of his hands moves up under her hair and the other closes around her bare breast, and she breathes again. She opens her eyes to look at him from behind her lashes. His eyes are veiled too, lost to the sensation of her, and he pushes her closer, rolls his hips against her and kisses her clavicle, his voice muffled against her skin. 

There’s a restlessness in his motions now and she feels it too, it’s not enough, not after three years of wanting. He takes a few deep breaths against her chest as if he’s fumbling for some emergency break. He obviously doesn’t find it because he lets go of her breast to take a firmer grip of her waist and tip her and himself onto the bed. She winds up on her back and he on his side. He leans onto her kissing her and she wraps her arms around his waist pulling his shirt up. He reaches back and helps her pull it off. They’ve been swimming together, she’s seen him bare chested before, but is acutely aware that it’s a very different experience under these circumstances and she looks at him hungrily, unashamed. 

He touches her breast again, and drags his hand downward, following it with his eyes. He reaches the button of her jeans and she feels a little snap as he opens it, then a slight vibration as he pulls down her zipper. She can’t help but hold her breath, her heartbeat is like thunder in her ears. His hand is tight against her from the pressure of the garment and she feels it clearly as he makes his way down, and in between her legs. His hand is on top of her panties but she still twitches, gasps, when he reaches the right spot. There’s a sound from him, she thinks a moan at first, but it’s a word, words actually.

“No.” He pulls his hand from her pants and grasps her hip instead, holds it firmly, to steady himself. “No, no, wait.” It’s just a mumble, but it’s enough for her to go cold. 

He shifts his body higher, and leans away from her. She forces herself to look at him, terrified, that’s how it feels. His eyes are closed shut and he takes a deep breath, then opens them and locks his gaze with hers.

“I have to tell you something.”

She swallows, manages a trembling smile.

“Now?”

“Yes.” He whispers, completely serious.

She exhales, and hopes he can’t hear the panic in it.

“What?”

There’s a pause before he speaks, and it goes on forever. 

“I love you.” His voice is brittle.

There’s a sudden, sharp sting in her chest and her vision goes blurry. She furiously blinks to be able to see.

“And I think I have to go to Philadelphia.” He says.

She takes a breath and it feels like she hasn’t for minutes. Then all of a sudden, hot tears are running down her temples, and she gasps for air.

“Rory?” He’s afraid, she’s never heard him sound like that.

She sniffles, and meets his eyes.

“You love me?” Her voice sounds strange, she’s crying, how embarrassing.

He doesn’t seem to think that though. The obvious relief and surprise on his face at her words, her reaction, is beautiful. His chest rises and falls quickly in a breath and he smiles, baffled, with trembling lips.

“Yes.”

The euphoria of that small word forces a silent laugh, or maybe a sob, from her chest and she leans her head back, closing her eyes to bear it. He leans onto her again, strokes her hair, her temple, wipes a tear. She lets out a few wet breaths, swallows, then opens her eyes and looks at him. His face, it’s so soft, his gaze caresses her, rolling from her forehead to her eyes, her mouth, her cheek and ear.

“Say it again.” She whispers, starving.

He blinks, smiles. 

“I love you.” He says unsteadily.

Her chest quakes. She wraps her arms around his neck to hold on and he buries his face in the crook of her neck. She feels him shaking too. Maybe from laughter, maybe it’s an actual earthquake. Then his mouth is on hers again, wet and hungry, and she laughs into it, mid-kissing, before the sensation of him takes over again. 

She lifts her hips and inches out of her jeans and socks, wildly blushing. He leans to the side and watches her. She turns her face and meets his eyes before gathering the courage to push him over on his back. She drags a hand across his stomach on a pretty strong impulse, and tries to breath through the sensation he causes her with just his facial expression. 

Her hands reach to unbutton his pants on their own accord and she finds herself surprised at it. She’s never the one to initiate much of anything in this department. His hands close around hers and he looks at her, the urging right there. She unbuttons his pants under the cover of his hands and he pulls them off himself, pushing them over the edge of the bed. 

She is suddenly aware of the sunlight streaming in through the window, it’s the middle of the afternoon, how the rays fall on his skin, light up his eyes, and she realises he can see her too. It’s real. Just a few minutes ago she was drunk, exempt, now he went and made it real. He lies back down on the bed in his underwear, and some strange kind of shyness overcomes her. Her skin prickles as she sits there, imagining Stars Hollow outside the window. Taylor bossing around Kirk somewhere, Dean tending to his nose, maybe comforted by Lindsey. Lane making out with Zach, maybe at the musicstore, her mother and Luke at the house, possibly in the same situation she is, sans the shyness, or the underwear. A quiet laugh escapes her at the thought and Jess looks at her with a quizzical smile. She just shakes her head, and revels in how beautiful he is. 

Then she inches herself further up on the bed and lies back, feeling intensely vulnerable. Her pulse still beats hard, steadfastly between her legs, like a ticking clock. He watches her, and she swallows, reaching out her hand to him. He responds by moving closer to her, leaning on an elbow and dragging his hand up her tummy, over her breast, ending at her face. She thinks that they’ve changed places; He doesn’t seem hesitant or concerned anymore, just calm and curious. She’s nervous though, and turned on, the combination makes her feel explosive. 

His hand strokes her cheek lightly, his thumb running over her lower lip. She shoots out her chin, half a start, an attempt. He leans in brushing his lips to hers. She puts a hand on his shoulder and pulls him lightly to her, but he rolls back on his side stroking her face, expression apologetic.

“I don’t have any protection.” He says.

She’s beyond relieved that’s all it is, but intensely disappointed at the same time.

“I was not expecting this.” He shakes his head looking at her, his fingers fiddling with her hair.

She swallows.

“I’m on the pill.” She usually doesn’t share that piece of information, because: “I normally come equipped with condoms too, but, they’re in my bag back at the house.”

His eyes narrow.

“Yeah, so-” She blushes, clears her throat. “We’ve never talked about stuff like this.”

“Didn’t have a reason to.” He answers, and looks at her like she’s a new place he’s arrived at.

“So,” her voice is thick but she forces it anyway, “I don’t know, do you ever get tested, or-?”

“I don’t have unprotected sex.”

“Never?”

“Lately I don’t have sex, period.”

“Lately?”

He shakes his head.

“Let’s not go there.”

She sighs, relieved and nervous, again.

“So,” he sighs, “this seems like just our luck, right?”

“Possibly.” She says. “Or an opportunity to trust each other.”

He tilts his head.

“I trust you. Not sure how I feel about Skip though.”

She chuckles.

“He always said he was chronically paranoid.” 

“Shit.”

She shrugs.

“I thought it was sweet, I mean, I’m the one walking around with twice the protection.” She shakes her head. “I’m the paranoid one. Can’t imagine why.”

He leans in to kiss her and she feels like crying again. He breaks the kiss but keeps their heads together.

“But you trust me?”

“Yes, I do.” She nods. 

“Seems like we were maybe talking about something other than just sex right there.”

“Maybe we were. And now when that’s out of the way-” She kisses him as a way of finishing the sentence and before she knows it the fuse is lit again. 

She opens her mouth and lets him in. She leans her body against his inviting him further. He doesn’t roll onto her even if that is what she craves, the oblivion of simple weight. But even that is not that simple, it won’t stop there, and she doesn’t want it too. This is what she wanted back when she settled for something, someone else. And now she wants a chance to correct it, to make it up to herself if nothing else. 

He bends his body, trying to keep kissing her while hooking his fingers into her panties and pulling them off. He doesn’t succeed and has to let her lips go, but it’s probably just as well seeing as she needs her full breathing capacity as he puts his hand directly on her. She can’t help her body jerking at the touch and he straightens again, lifts himself onto one of her legs and shoulder. She reaches for the elastic band on his boxers and urges him to take them off, everything in her demands it. He obliges. 

She’s lost to lust, has no say in what she needs, and she needs this to happen, can’t stop. She reaches down between them and touches him and he closes his eyes, breathing deeply, quickly a few times before seizing her mouth with his again so that they’re already kissing deeply when his fingers enter her. She tightens her fist around him, sure she’s about to lose it when he groans, covering her sound, which by the way transitions into laughter. It’s a nervous response and she knows it, but he seems to too, and his lips tighten in a smile while he keeps kissing her, all the while breathing heavier and moving against her, and his fingers inside her. 

He loves her, she remembers, and is at once so happy that she forgets any lingering embarrassment. She moans from the thought as well as the sensation of him and relaxes her legs allowing him better access. 

For a while there’s just that, this, them. Him and his touch, his mouth. He pushes her further than she’s ever gone with anyone, just by letting him get so fricking close, see so much. She holds onto his shoulder like she’s lost at sea when she comes, and makes sounds she can’t even hear herself because of the roar in her ears. He watches her attentively seemingly registering every effect he has on her. But he’s slow, too slow, and she starts showing her problem with his pacing by touching him more decisively, by writhing her body against his, then by making whining sounds. He just laughs at her, until she loses it and pushes his hand away. 

“What?” He smiles.

“What what?” She hisses. “When are you gonna-?”

“Gonna what?” He teases.

“Jess!” She cries, completely shameless.

He stops smiling and bites his lip.

“Maybe I’m nervous.”

“You don’t seem nervous.”

“Well, I’ve gotten pretty good at hiding that from you.”

“What have you got to be nervous about?” She near whines.

He raises his eyebrows.

“Tons of stuff. I’ve been wanting this for a long time, that’s one reason right there. Then there’s the result of that, what if I last a whole minute? And then at least two more reasons that I’m not comfortable mentioning because quite frankly I’m not feeling too hot talking about this before we’ve even-”

“Then why are you procrastinating?” She croaks. “We’re burning daylight here. What if Luke decides to come back? What if Taylor comes blasting through that door with a megaphone-”

“What?” He laughs.

“Don’t look at me like that, you know anything can happen in this town, and what if that happens before you even, before we-?”

“What have you read this week?” He interrupts, looking intently at her.

“Hey!” She slaps his shoulder. ”That’s my trick.”

“Come on.” He urges.

“I’ve read nothing of interest, okay?” She groans.

He nods, solemnly.

“Okay, now ask me.”

She squints at him.

“What have you learned?”

There’s a slight pause before he answers, speaking slowly.

“Probably loads of stuff, but right now I’m drawing a complete blank, ‘cause I think I’m about to learn what it’s like to have sex with someone you love.”

She gasps softly as his words hit, too close to home.

“How about that.” She mumbles. “Me too.”

His eyes widen, he obviously hadn’t considered that. Then something shifts in his face, and quickly. He leans over, moves himself between her legs, and pushes himself into her. She stares up into his face, completely taken by the sudden haste, and the sensation of him on top of, inside her, and he stares right back at her, pleasure flickering across his serious face like a double exposed image. She exhales with a pretty specific note in her voice and he kisses her and starts moving, muffling his own sounds with her mouth. It’s slow, exploratory, and she’s torn between the urge to speed up, to rid herself of what little pesky control she’s still in possession of and the thought that this is their first time, and they should get to know each other. His body trembles from the strain of keeping the pace and his eyes are closed. She looks at him and thinks that just seeing him like that, like this, is enough to tip her over the edge again. And then:

“Hey.” She manages, and he stops moving. “Look at me.”

He smiles, but keeps his eyes shut as he shakes his head.

“If I look at you I’ll come in like a second.”

She smiles so broadly it hurts her face.

“Really?”

A convulsion runs through his body at his laughter.

“Stop it.”

She rolls her hips to his and he tries and fails to hold back a groan.

“Well, I don’t care, because im planning on having loads of sex with you and I can’t do that until we finish this first round.” She moves again. “Now open your eyes.”

He does, and starts moving again. She watches him take her in, listens to his jagged breaths, does the puzzle in her head as she knows he does in his; You wanted him, and thought you couldn’t have him, and you shaped your thoughts and reality accordingly and now you get to, have to, dissolve that idea, and take in that it’s mutual, this thing, and real. His fingers trail her lips, her neck, her breast and wind up between her legs rubbing her until she comes again. She whimpers and his body shakes from his own orgasm. He collapses on top of her, and it’s so good, that weight, his scent, even the sweat on his skin, she has to blink away tears while kissing his neck.

They doze off for a while and when they wake up it’s late afternoon. She fumbles for her phone and finds a text from Lorelai asking where she is. She responds honestly, she’s at the diner with Jess and staying there, leaving no room for questions, even if they arrive in a series of intense beeps in the minutes following her sending her answer. By then Jess has pulled her, meeting exactly zero resistance, into a second round and the sounds are easy to ignore. But after that they're both forced to acknowledge that they’re starving and he pulls his boxers and shirt back on and goes to raid Luke’s fridge, and while he’s busy she checks her messages:

‘Glad you guys are making up.’ ‘Wait.’ ‘Ohmygod wait.’ ‘At the diner?’ ‘Are you making up at the diner or in the apartment above the diner? Please distinguish.’ ‘What do you mean ‘with’ Jess?’ Rory swallows, once more unsure about what Lorelai’s actual take would be on her getting together with Jess, but refuses to think about it right now. Instead she answers: “I love you, mom” and turns off her phone.

They eat sandwiches by the table, Rory has located one of her mother’s robes and is wearing that, unwilling to get dressed again. She takes big bites, her body actually sobering up, hours after her mind, and chews with great concentration. She’s done before Jess and watches him eat, while her head starts functioning again.

“Philadelphia.” She just says, before she knows it.

He looks at her, startled, and swallows what he has in his mouth before shaking his head, looking so serious that she abandons any attempt to keep speaking. 

“I can’t have this conversation right now. I won’t.”

He gets up and walks around the table, drops to his knees in front of her chair and looks up at her. She looks back and notices it’s hard to breathe, her gaze wanders his messy hair, his bruised cheek before meeting his eyes straightly. Her heart is too full, it hurts. He puts his hands to her bare feet and strokes them up her legs, reaches her thighs, her waist. He grips her around her lower back and pulls her off the chair into his lap, opens the robe.

An hour later they’re back in bed. It’s gotten dark outside, but it’s still early. He’s opened the window for air, and she can hear people move past the building on the sidewalk outside. She makes little sounds, hoarse and thirsty, but unable to get up. She turns on her side and inches her head onto his shoulder, stroking her hand down the side of his naked body. He intercepts it and lifts it, tangling their fingers together.

“You stayed for me.” She says. “Right?” She looks at him and sees the confirmation in his face. “All this. Always working. Staying put despite there obviously being better things for you out there. It was for me.”

“Luke was a factor too.” He takes a deep breath. “But yeah.” 

“And I asked you to pretend to be my boyfriend because I really wanted you to be.” The words are uncomfortable getting out, she’s held onto them so convulsively.

He exhales, but it’s getting too dark in the room to make out his expression.

“Well, I’m yours if you want me.” 

“I do.” She says, simply.

She plays with his fingers for a few minutes, holds them up to hers, measuring them in the fading light.

”If you can stay for me you can go for me.” She mumbles.

“That is nowhere near the same thing.” He objects.

“Neither is the situation. You love me now.” She answers lightly.

“I’ve always loved you.”

She smiles, closes her eyes to ride the feeling of hearing him say it. She kisses him, and forgets.

Even later, she’s lost track of time, but well past midnight, she’s the best kind of sore from making love, leaning over the sink, naked, drinking from the tap. She stands like that for at least a couple of minutes, the water running into the metal sink and the light under the shelves buzzing. She straightens, wiping the water from her mouth with the back of her hand and blinks at him, still in the bed, head resting in his hand while he watches her.

“I think I have to be- do better.” He says.

She turns off the light and makes her way back to him, while he keeps talking.

”Your grandmother didn’t say it right out, but she made it clear-”

She interrupts.

”Jess, no! You can’t do anything to try to please her.”

“Look who’s talking!” He laughs.

She climbs back into bed and nestles in tightly against him. 

“I’m not doing this with her anymore.” She mumbles against his neck. “No more blind dates, or set ups, or letting her auction me off to the highest bidder. It’s done.”

“Good for you.”

She makes some space between them to make her point clear.

“So, if I, who’s been groomed for this my entire life can say no more, then you-”

He grasps the sides of her face with both hands and she stops gesturing.

“I’m doing it for me, and you, not her.” His eyes dart between hers. “But Rory, I’m glad you asked me to do this thing with you because it forced me to actually look at my life.”

She burrows her hands into his hair.

“You think you have to be better. I think you deserve better.”

He smiles.

“That’s the same thing, I can’t sit out any more chances.”

She takes a deep breath and puts her forehead to his, closing her eyes.

“I guess you’re not done being the good guy after all.”

“No, I’m not.”

The next time they wake up it’s because of his alarm clock. He hits it to silence it and she rolls over and kisses his neck. He seizes her mouth with his and mumbles against it:

“Let’s hit the shower.”

Half an hour later they’re back in bed after showering, wet and spent, waiting for time to run out, for it to reach the point when they absolutely have to get up, not before then will she move, she thinks. 

“There’ll probably be people hanging on the door today.” He says after a few minutes.

“Shoot, you’re right.” She looks at him. “We have to get up.”

They do. He’s dressed within a minute and goes to brush his teeth. She inspects her shirt from yesterday critically, and heads for the closet in the hope of finding something of Lorelai’s. She does, but she also finds something of Luke’s and starts laughing to herself as she puts it on. 

Jess comes out of the bathroom and stops in his tracks as he sees her; She’s in her jeans, but then one of Luke’s flannels, and one of his old caps. She holds out her hands.

“Ta-dah!”

“Oh, man!” He laughs.

“Come on!” She waves at him. “I’m ready to open for business.”

He follows her, still laughing, down the stairs, where she stops, right inside the curtain. He walks into her, and immediately takes advantage of the situation, leaning her on the wall, kissing her, like they have nothing but time, like space is irrelevant. They might actually have been done for, if it hadn’t been for Kirk’s voice leaking in from the entrance where he’s conversing with someone, likely Lorelai. Rory twists in Jess’s grip.

“Stop touching me or I’m gonna lose it.” She purrs.

“By the look of you you already have.” 

He stops moving his hands at least and she gains enough composure from that to straighten in her spot.

“What about us?” He asks in a fit of sobriety.

She takes a breath, and answers slowly, as bravely as she can.

“We’ll make it work. I’ll come visit. You’ll come home.”

”It won’t be easy.”

His eyes are shiny and she puts her hand to his cheek.

“And it won’t be fake.”

He tips his head forward with a helpless smile.

“It never was.” He says.

She smiles too.

“You’re going.” She kisses him again. “But not today. Today you have to stay here with me, it’s Sunday.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Ah! replied my gentle fair, Beloved, what are names but air? Choose thou whatever suits the line: Call me Sappho, call me Chloris, Call me Lalage, or Doris, Only, only, call me thine.” - Samuel Taylor Coleridge


End file.
